Blimey, it's a baby!
by Mizz Moneypenny
Summary: Sam Tyler returns to his flat after a pretty bad day to find a mysterious parcel against his door. With no clues as to why it's there and with a little interference from Gene Hunt, the basket is only just the beginning of something far worse. Finished!
1. Chapter 1: Blimey, it's a baby!

Hey! Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed my first Life On Mars fic 'Eyes On Me'. If you like Sam and Gene slash, I'd recommend taking a little stroll over there now. Anyway, if you've already read it, don't like slash or generally can't be arsed, stay with me on this one...it could get interesting!

I forgot to mention before that I don't own anything to do with LOM. Sadly. Very sadly. I'd take Philip Glenister and John Simm out for a pint if I could (and if I was eighteen!).

Hope you enjoy this weird little number and thanks for checking it out!

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Strolling back to his dingy, suburban apartment, Sam Tyler sighed heavily; it had been an exhausting and, for the most part, frustrating day. He'd argued with Hunt as much as usual (not that that was a surprise to him - he'd gotten used to it by now and would find it a disruption of his routine if him and the Boss _didn't_ fight everyday) and had a 'lovers tiff' - as the Guv chose to put it so nicely - with his new sort of girlfriend, Annie.

Against his better and usually more sensitive frame of mind, he let her be for a while. He kept telling himself that things would be better in the morning after a good nights rest and a chance for him to recharge his batteries and forget about the days case, that was playing heavily on his already over burdened mind. Everyone had been under a lot of pressure that day and needed a couple of hours to cool down, for the most part.

Jogging as quickly as he could, as fast as his knackered legs could carry him, avoiding the empty crisp packets and beer bottles spread unevenly on the dirty surface, Sam made his way down the darkening corridors and up the stairs in the block of flats where he lived, his mind still pacing; the days case had been going terribly. Several female bodies had been found in various parts of the city, each in a similar sort of bloodied state. Yet, there was no solid evidence. No leads. No clues. No nothing.

As always, Sam would forever go back to his apartment and contemplate the days findings, his mind working over time. In reality (if there was such a thing) he just wanted the place to be safe, for everyone.

Especially Annie.

Approaching his room, he dug deep into his leather jacket, fiddling about amongst the gum wrappers, torn cotton lining fabric and several coins until he finally found the keys to his flat. Dragging them out with his little finger, his eyes were stinging; it really _had_ been a long day.

Coming up to his door, his eyes still incredibly sore and the lighting dim, too dim to really inspect the surroundings accurately, Sam squinted. He could have sworn there was a parcel in front of his worn door. He blinked, making sure his eyes weren't deceiving him; it wouldn't have surprised him in the slightest if they were. After all he'd seen in the past few months, small blonde girls coming out of TV's, milk floats telling him he'd had an overdose, he did feel that anything was possible in this world he was living.

Sam's face screwed up, in a mixture of confusion and fatigue. He bent before the object, his knees cracking; he _really_ needed to go to bed. Using his finger tips as the only reliable sense, he thought that it was a basket, with a load of pink blankets shoved on top of it. He searched the halls, making sure no one was there, spying on him. He had every right to be paranoid, after everything he'd seen during the day; when he closed his eyes, he could still see the women - naked, skin savagely ripped apart, a sea of bruises.

Picking up the wicker basket, he unlocked the door, dashing inside and slamming it shut again. He wanted to examine it thoroughly, as if it was one of the many women's bodies he'd found over the course of the past couple of days.

In his haste, DI Tyler didn't notice how heavy the 'parcel' was. In hindsight, it was a foolish thing to do, bringing it into his home (what he _had_ to regard as a home). It could have been anything, like a bomb waiting to explode. Yet, he wasn't thinking straight; he was just exhausted.

Placing the unidentified object lightly on the table (after all, he had no idea exactly what it was), his curiosity was beginning to take over in a major way. Removing his comfortable leather jacket and taking a deep breath, he rolled up his sleeves, ready to begin the new voyage. It was like stepping into the unknown.

Removing piece of fabric by piece of fabric, Sam's rounded nose crinkled; for the most part, the blankets were filthy, covered in dust or mud, one thing or another; his mind was struggling to tell the difference right about then.

After about five minutes of careful removal, finally, he got to the last layer, or what Sam considered to be the last layer. Running a hand through his dirty, gel stained, blondish locks, he smoothly removed the cover, shutting his eyes tightly shut; he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to discover what lurked beneath. However, instincts took over his vast frame of logic, his Guv's tactics finally playing a role in all of this.

He opened his eyes wearily. "Jesus!" he cried, his mouth nearly touching the floor; he had to blink several times to make sure his hazel eyes weren't misleading him, to make sure that what he was peering at was real.

Unfortunately, it was real. _Too_ real.

Disrupting his disgruntled, clouded thoughts, a sudden knock came at his door, Sam nearly shooting out of his skin like a creature from a child's cartoon in the twenty-first century, taking in a sharp breath in as the silence was dislocated. From past experience, from the sound and depth of the thud, he knew it could be one person and one person only...

"Tyler! Open this freakin' door - NOW!"

Panicking, Sam wanting the Guv under no circumstances to see what he had before him. Heaving the mantles randomly over the basket, he tried to regain his cool. Dragging a hand over his face, relieving his skin of any sweat particles flooding from his pores, he marched over to his door, not wanting to answer it. At all. However, he knew if he didn't, he would have the mammoth man barge it down, someone having to come and fix the wooden frame (again) for what seemed like the millionth time in a month.

He finally opened the entrance, glancing back to make sure the basket was concealed in a manner of speaking.

"What the hell took you so long?" Gene Hunt slurred tipsily, shoving past Sam to get inside his DI's arm knocked from beside his over loaded head.

Scampering back, trying his best to hide the basket from the 'Sheriff', Tyler knew that the last thing he needed right now was the Governor on his case.

His breath reeking of alcohol, Gene turned to face Sam, a bottle of whisky on his person, Sam prayed that the Boss would be too pissed to notice the basket, or even to remember seeing it at all, if that should be the case.

"What are you doing here?" Sam danced back over to the table hastily, standing suspiciously close to the wooden piece of furniture. Hunt was the last person he wanted to see, after everything that had happened through out the course of the day.

"Advancement of the case!" he hicked; he wasn't completely off his face, just a little merry.

Tyler snatched the bottle of whisky from his Chief, slamming it down beside the clock on his bedside table. He couldn't be dealing with a drunk Gene Hunt, not after the arguments they'd had previously in the day, and especially not at this time of night. The clock read 11.54pm and whilst Sam had been busy in the office until a little under twenty minutes ago, trying his best to uncover any hidden evidence to the dire case that needed to be solved as soon as possible, Hunt, Carling and Skelton decided to try another method; going down to the pub, wasting valuable time there, as if drink would be the solution to all of their problems. As if - by magic - the case would be abruptly solved so they could ride off into the sunset and keep their minds firmly set to a new instance, one that wasn't too taxing on their little brains and one that would gain them vast amounts of praise from the folk of Manchester and the media alike. Sam knew that Gene wasn't always like that, he was passionate about his job just as much as himself, if not more so, and maybe not even the dim-witted Chris, but Ray…

Spinning on his heels, Gene turned to face the splintered table at the far end of the room. His head to one side, he raised an eyebrow. "What's that on the table?"

"W-what?" Sam played dumb, dashing back over from his bed to where the basket lay.

Gene turned slightly to face him. "Don't lie to me - what _is_ it?"

"N-nothing." Sam let out a small gasp, edging backwards in a better attempt to obscure the object. "Besides, I thought you wanted to discuss an advancement of something?"

The DCI opened his mouth slightly, ready to speak. Randomly, a teeny wail erupted in the air. "What the bloody hell was that?" he questioned, his face stern like a Bulldog's.

Shuddering, Sam had to make up an excuse...and fast. "Uh, sorry, just my stomach."

Watching his DI stretch his palm of his right hand over his abdomen and shift awkwardly from one foot to the other, Gene knew his accomplice was lying, badly. Sam knew that he knew too; even though Hunt was a little drunk, he still noticed the cold stare he had etched on his scarred face.

Never the less, Gene decided to progress with the matter at hand. "Yeah, anyway, me and Ray - Chris got too pissed and pa-passed out off his chair - we came up with a solution..."

Before Gene could get any further, the object in the basket started crying, extremely loudly. Pushing a defeated Sam to one side, he peered in the basket, after lifting the numerous blankets away, his mouth opened in astonishment, much like his partner's had done just a few minutes ago.

"Blimey! It's a baby!"

Groaning in exasperation and worry, Sam stood beside the Guv. "I can see why they made you a DCI." he sniped in an unusually sarcastic tone, which he'd adapted since moving from 'Hyde'; he was too tired to be dealing with all of this but now saw no alternative but to deal with it head on.

"You and Cartwright _did_ get it on quick, huh?" Gene chuckled, elbowing Sam in the ribs, much to the displeasure of the DI.

Sam shook his head, choosing to ignore the juvenile comments just aimed in his direction. Knowing that he couldn't overlook the child's bawling for any longer (and since Hunt couldn't be arsed to do anything about it), Sam took the baby, jogging them up and down in his arms, his uncovered skin soothing the baby a little, their breathing becoming steadier.

A few moments of silence passed, the baby the only one making any noise. By now it was just a few whimpers, probably from the displeasure of the strange surroundings and even stranger men.

"Well, what is it?"

Sam had to examine the question carefully, his eyes flickering in disbelief at the Guv. "A baby?"

"No, Dorothy, boy or girl?" Gene quizzed, his face now close to that of the infants as he snorted at his DI's last remark.

The baby began to wail even louder, feeling the warm, whisky tainted breath on their face. "Don't cry, darling, Mr. Hunt has that effect on everyone!" Sam whispered, beginning to hate the ringing sound in his ears. Noting the Guv's sour expression, he answered the inquiry. "I don't know - I only discovered them a split second before you staggered in."

Once the baby had calmed down, the more gentle of the two unwrapped them from it's miniscule, ill fitting clothing.

"I would say it should be a girl with all of the pink blankets. But, then I look at you and realise you are a bloke and a bit of a fairy." Gene smirked, Sam once again proceeding with his business, choosing not to listen to the larger man beside him. Not that he cared really what Hunt thought of him, it was just too late in the day for him to be bothered to care or to deal with another fight.

Unwrapping them from their clothing, both men realised that the baby was a little girl. "Guv, look at all of the bruising on her." he gasped in a mixture of disgust, sympathy and shock; how could anyone do this to such a young child? As Hunt turned the main light on, to get a better view, Tyler traced the bluish black marks on her frail body.

"She can't stay 'ere, she needs medical attention." Gene observed in a more compassionate fashion.

Agreeing, Sam wrapped the small child up, in the most mellow of ways, placing her back in the basket, after all, he knew nothing about babies. "Who's driving?" he asked, knowing he'd live to regret that question.

"I am - we need to break the speed limit if we hope of getting her there tonight and you sure as hell won't do that!" Gene snarled, the dynamic duo heading over to the door. "Then you can tell me how come _you've_ been left holding the baby!"

Sam sighed. "Literally."

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Next time in 'Blimey, it's a baby!"

Once arriving at hospital, there are unanswered questions that need to be addressed but will anyone have the answers?

Check back for more, soon!


	2. Chapter 2: Whisky, aches and a hospital

First of all, I would just like to say a massive THANK YOU to everyone who read, reviewed, adding this story to your favs or alerts - I'm really happy with this chapter and hope you all are too!

Thanks once again for coming back for more - enjoy!

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Stampeding down the stairs, making more noise than a heard of elephants between the two of them, DI Sam Tyler and DCI Gene Hunt bundled themselves in the burnt orange coloured Cortina, the DCI mantling around in his pockets for the keys. Holding them gingerly in his rough hands, he started feeling around in his pockets, as if he was missing something else valuable and essential to his existence.

"Shit!" he cried out, his face turning redder.

"What now?" Sam whined, still holding the small baby close to his chest.

The Guv continued to grope his jacket. "I left me bottle of whisky in your mucky flat!"

DI Tyler rolled his eyes. "C'mon, we've got a baby here who you said just a minute ago was in urgent need of medical attention."

Sam opened the car door as quickly as he could, ducking inside whilst protecting the baby girl's head. However, Gene was still wondering around outside, seemingly lost without a bottle of something on his person.

"Will you get in the bloody car?" Sam called, quickly losing his temper with his Boss.

"Alright, alright." Gene replied, holding his hands up in defence, reluctantly manovering his body inside the vehicle, an unusually soppy expression attached to his lips.

Tearing down the road, Sam clutched the tiny child closer to his frame, grasping onto the handle above his head for what seemed like dear life. "Freakin' hell, Guv, can't you slow down just a little bit?"

"No, Sammy Boy, 'fraid I can't." That one comment alone inspired Gene to put the pedal to the metal even more, the Cortina literally shaking as his driving became more menacing, Sam actually having to shout over the engine for his now timid voice to be heard.

"GUV FOR FUCKS SAKE, WE HAVE A BABY IN OUR CARE!"

Confused as to why his unruly Boss was directing them down near the high street, in the opposite direction of the nearest medical facility, the car paused dramatically, Sam exhaling thankfully, as the car came to an ear piercing, screeching halt. 'Maybe there is a God after all?' he mused pensively to himself, compressing what he was thinking.

A cigarette drooping from the side of a curled lip, Gene reached in his pocket for his worn, semi-leather wallet and his lighter. "'Ere, cop 'old of this for a minute." he demanded, thrusting the couple of money notes against Sam's chest, nearly knocking the poor baby in the head!

"Guv, what the hell are you doing now?"

Nodding sideways to order Sam to glance out of the window, the DI's face crumpled; they were directly outside one of Manchester's many Off Licence's.

"You have to be kidding me?" Tyler sighed, exasperation completely engulfing his last phrase. Watching absent mindly as his Chief stumbled from out of the vehicle into the shop to collect his beloved Malt, Sam groaned loudly, shaking his head until it felt as if it was to fall off.

Noticing the small child, who by this stage had managed to somehow fall asleep in his arms, the twenty-first century boy's face lit up. Stroking her pale cheek lightly, not to wake her, merely as a sign of affection, he'd often wondered what it would be like to have children. To be called someone's 'Daddy'. For a split second, many emotions and disrupted thoughts ran through his mind; how his own Father was hardly there for him as a child (not by choice in most circumstances), Maya's life as a mixed race child, growing up having to accept that her creed could be seen as more than just a sign of oppression and then Annie, sweet Annie; the only person he could possibly envisage having kids with at this moment in time. He knew that, in time, she'd make a great Mother, even if she had her own doubts.

"I wonder who your Mummy is, hum?" Sam rhetorically questioned the youngster, shifting himself as silently as possible in the awkward, thick plastic seats. Somehow, he vaguely recognised the child, reminding himself that, all babies that teeny look the same. Staring at her for a few more moments, his seconds of tranquillity were disrupted when Gene ventured out of the shop, already slinging the Whisky lid into a near by dustbin, closely followed by the dead end of the cigarette. Sam was less than impressed by now, the larger man shifting his weight once again inside his beloved Cortina, sort of reminiscing about some job he sort of thought he had to do.

"So," he spoke up, a surge of revs coming from the motor. "Hospital, yeah?"

His Detective Inspector rolled his eyes. "So you _do_ recall where we are meant to be going?"

Taking another vast gulp of the intoxicating fluid, Hunt literally gasped for air, perhaps realising that he'd drunk it a little too quickly, even by his own usually high standards. "Never forgot Sammy Boy," he spoke, tapping his bonce. "Just had urgent business to attend to."

Sam's face screwed up. "Whoa, sorry, so you going and getting a bottle of piss up is more important than getting a sick baby to hospital?"

Gene smirked, his driving gloved hands attached to the steering wheel. "It's alright, if she gets hungry you'll have plenty of milk to breast feed 'er with!"

The coppers continued their petty argument for another ten minutes, finally arriving at the Manchester Hospital. Protectively grasping the bruised child in his thin yet steady arms, Sam dashed as quickly as his tired legs would carry him into the A&E department, not so closely followed by Gene who was having more than a few problems being steady on his feet!

Glancing cagily at the child from time to time, DI Tyler eventually found a member of the hospitals staff. The place was nearly deserted in the waiting room area, where he'd managed to find the female nurse. She smiled lightly to him, in awe of the beautiful child before her. Despite the numerous markings on the babies frame, she still beamed back and forth from the baby to Sam.

"Go and give your details at the front desk. I'll get someone to come and talk with you." she directed, her eyes unusually warm and peaceful.

Sam watched her walk away. Suddenly, an acute pain shot through his head, a bullet soaring through his temples. He fell with a thud to the ground, the chilled, white and remarkably clean floor tiles providing comfort for his now burning hot body, shifting through sprees of hot and cold sweats. His senses became razor sharp, his vision being more powerful that ever before, the overbearing stench of antiseptic solution flooded his nostrils, leaving a imperious taste in the back of his throat, traces trickling down into his gullet, setting his whole stomach on fire.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. _

Clasping his abs, his breathing became heavy, uncontrollable. "Go away!" he cried, salty water welling up in his eyes, his foresight fusing with the hospital setting. "I thought all of this was over!"

_We managed to get him stable, for now. I don't know how much more I can do for him though, Mrs. Tyler. _The voice of Morgan soon became apparent, a new series of shock waves startling his body. _We thought he really was a goner then. The next forty eight hours are critical but things don't look too good, I'm afraid to say. It really is all up to your son now, Mrs. Tyler, as to whether he lives or dies._

"MUM?" Sam whimpered, his physique now in a burdened heap on the floor, tears spilling uncontrollably from his hazel eyes, his body shaking. "Don't listen to the bastard!" Tyler found himself banging his head, trying to block out any last thoughts of the world he left behind. The world he was _convinced_ he had left behind.

Abruptly a fresh pair of fists thumped his cranium, swipes of a smooth material colliding with his hair. Then, the hands lifted him up by the right arm, the stumbling implying the owner of the hands had no idea how to react, other than joining in with the violence.

"Get up Tyler, you're causing a scene." Upon hearing his Governor's gruff voice, Sam obeyed him, much like an Alsatian following orders from their owner.

By this time, Sam's eyes were too swollen to comprehend the fuss he'd just caused around himself. "Alright, there's nothing to see 'ere." Gene retorted, wrapping almost a comforting arm around the younger man, as if he was shielding him from the cruel whispers and scrutiny. "Come on, we'll go somewhere a little quieter." he mumbled to Sam, pushing him in the route where he wanted to go. The Detective Inspector did as he was told, Gene meanwhile spinning on his heels and offering an obscenely fierce glance to all of those still surveying the sight they were just subjected to.

"Nothing to see 'ere love, unless you want to make something of it." Hunt let the drink do the talking for him, following his DI to a less crowded corridor, near to where the baby had been taken to a few moments ago.

By the time the DCI had staggered over there, Sam was already sat down, his now aching head resting dexterously on his knees, his eyes shut in hope of preserving any last sense of clarity and serenity he felt whilst on his own in the car with the infant. He felt Hunt's presence stand over him, again protecting him from any glares from hospital staff and patients. One look from the Gene Genie was enough to put them off the idea of questioning!

Eventually, Gene sat closely beside Sam, still clutching the bottle of Whisky he recently acquired. Taking another swig, he offered the half empty bottle to his DI, who after a few seconds of close examination, making sure he knew exactly what it was, accepted the offer gladly, closing his eyes as he savoured the traces of liquid scorching the back of his throat, a burning train running away on the uneven tracks. Tyler took the bottle as almost a sign of sympathy and a peace offering for the previous days misfortunes, even if the Guv hadn't consciously seen it that way. Really, it had just been an overwhelming amount of pressure swallowing what was left of the A-Divisions spirits. They had been pretty diminished in the past couple of days, despite the triumph of when Sam came through with the team, finally feeling as if he was meant to be in Manchester, 1973.

Now, he was beginning to doubt all of it, all over again.

Taking the bottle back from his DI's hands, Gene took another gulp, letting out a huge sigh of relief afterwards. He didn't quite know what to say next but curiosity was almost demanding a response to a question spinning in his head. "What happened back there, Sam?"

Tyler lifted his head quickly. He had to think of a hasty response. "Oh, um, just a bad migraine." he replied, his forehead once again resting against the soft, cord fabric of his burgundy flares.

"Looked pretty bad." Gene let out a loud breath, surveying the surroundings around them. "At least you're in a 'ospital."

Sam sniggered at the last remark. 'Yeah, and all hospitals are doing right now is killing me.' he mused, images of Morgan hovering over his bed, checking his vital signs, his Mum clutching at his hand and to any last shred of hope that her Son would return to her from the doctor's petty words.

An unusual few minutes of silence passed, the bottle of whisky passing between the duo's palms. The two men didn't know really what to say to each other, how to counter the situation they were in. Hunt was confused, a collaboration of drink, fatigue and genuine perplexity beginning to take it's toll. "So, you have no idea where that b-baby came from?" his inquiry was accompanied by a hick, his thick neck adjusting to become level with his Detective Inspector's face.

Sam shook his head with care. "Nope, no idea. I went home, found the basket laying there, took it into the flat and that was that."

"What about Cartwright?" The DCI quizzed, beginning to get bored with the lack of substance in his mouth; by this time, between the two of them, they'd finished off any last drop of the orange liquor, even Sam became a little tipsy, with Gene being_ a lot _tipsy.

"What about Annie?"

Gene pulled his cigarettes from his trouser pockets, dragging it across his thinning lips. He offered Tyler the packet, for which he declined. "Didn't she stay with you?"

"Nope. She got a taxi about half an hour before I left."

Gene paused, the heat of his glare soon getting to Sam. "You mean, you let her go, on 'er own in a taxi, instead of taking her 'ome yourself?"

Tyler eventually looked up, the bloke's eyes locking. "Yep."

"Huh, some 'boyfriend' you are!" Hunt mocked, hauling the cigarette's 'goodness' once again in his mouth.

"Oh yeah, and like you're such a good husband?" Sam struck back, not in the mood for taking any of Gene's nonchalant insults.

Gene never answered, realising that his co-workers words were very true to life, as if he couldn't work it out anyway. Instead, his eyes became transfixed by the ciggie he cradled between his fingers, savouring every last spec of the nicotine.

Realising that maybe his words were a bit too harsh, Sam decided to make conversation once again. "You know, you probably shouldn't be smoking in here." he advised, his sore head now resting against the corridor's wall, the coolness once again soothing his bruising. "Having said that, we shouldn't have been drinking either."

"Oh come on Sammy Boy, what are they gonna do, call the Police?" Gene spluttered hazily, throwing the butt of the cigarette sloppily onto the floor.

Tyler never bothered to respond; he had expected that kind of sarcastic taunt to come from his DCI's lips. Massaging his head, his hands fumbled against his skull, trying to relieve himself of pain. He expected Gene's eyes on again on him, feeling obliged to speak. "Did you _have_ to thump me so hard?" he grimaced, gasping at the feeling of goose egg bumps on his cranium.

Gene snorted. "Well, it looked like fun - I didn't want to miss out."

Before Sam could salvage an answer, a distantly familiar appearing gentleman came whirling towards Hunt and Tyler, his fists clenched and his eyes blazing.

- - - - - - - - - -

Next time in 'Blimey, it's a baby!"

Who is the bloke? How does Sam recognise him and what relation does he hold to his entire existence?

Check back for more, soon!


	3. Chapter 3: Explanations?

"Oi, you two, what the hell did you do with my daughter?" he cried, hurling towards the two men at the speed of light.

Gene, being a man of great integrity and discipline, stood to his feet, his fist colliding with the mans stomach. Repeating this time and time again, Sam simply gazed on in shock.

'It _can't_ be him.' he considered silently to himself, his mouth once again hung open. Yet, the sudden thud of the blokes body crumpling to the floor made him more alert. That and the fact his DCI held the empty bottle of whisky dangerously close to the gentleman's head and neck.

"NO!" Tyler yelped, jumping to his feet, wrestling with the Guv, managing to get the empty bottle away from his Sheriff's firm grasp.

Hunt turned to face the younger man, his lips pouting fiercely. "And what did you do _that_ for?"

By this time, Sam was on the floor beside the man, helping him get back to a confused standing position. "Are you alright, sir?" he questioned rapidly, completely ignoring his Boss' demands.

Wiping himself down and straightening up his stained shirt, the other man panted for breath; his adrenaline had been pumping - even before the what some would describe as an unprovoked attack - and was doing even more so now. Clutching at his sore ribs with one hand, the other attached to his bleeding nose, Sam let go of him, the man standing up as straight as possible before peering wearily at the DI. "Thank you." he spluttered gratefully, realising what a favour Sam had just paid him.

Sam stood gawping at him once again; it was as if he was deaf. He could see the man's lips move, his eyes feebly open and shut after the impact of such an attack but Sam simply couldn't hear his voice addressing him.

Nudging his Detective Inspector, Mr. Hunt was more than a little peeved at what had just transpired, his fingers clicking outrageously. Sam shook his head, rejoining the world in which he was living in. For the moment. "He wants a tissue, didn't you 'ear him?" Gene pestered, Sam shaking himself awake.

"Yes, of course, sorry." he delved once again into the pockets of his beloved leather jacket, managing to find a screwed up hanky after a few moments of searching. "It is clean." he assured, forcing it into the familiar man's hand.

"Thank you." the gentleman nodded once again, his fingers gently coming into contact with his tender nose.

As Sam stood, seemingly staring into space, the Detective Chief Inspector took it as the perfect opportunity to ask what all of the commotion was about.

The other man blinked, vigilantly analysing the police man's inquiry. "I heard that you were the two that had brought my baby girl in." he frowned, looking to the now bloody floor. "Apparently, she was bruised?"

"I'll let my Detective Inspector answer that one for you." Gene decided, glancing over at Tyler; his gaze still intently attached to the questioning Father. "For f- wake up!" Hunt spat, knocking Sam into the wall like a rag doll. He was too preoccupied to feel the pain though, the query only just registering in his excessively loaded mind.

"Sorry, um, yeah. I arrived back at my flat about an hour or so ago and I found a basket with a load of pink blankets bundled on top of it. I took it into my apartment and found a baby inside. Then -"

"Then I burst in." Gene concluded, wanting to quicken up the pace.

"So, you did _nothing_ to her at all?" the man questioned frantically. You could see lines of stress indenting his skin every second, his off brown hair turning greyer with each passing moment.

Sam shook his head vigorously. "No, not at all. Other than pick her up and bring her here."

The other man let out a huge gust of air, a sigh of relief, burying his gaunt face into his shaking hands. "Thank you." he whispered, his praise directed at DI Tyler.

Sam was still startled by the man's appearance but also wanting some more in depth answers. "Um, Mr -?"

"Um, Mr Smith, Mike."

Sam's world came to a sudden halt, a car crashing into his body; the last name Smith. His Mum's maiden name. His Mother's brother? His..._Uncle_?

Tyler disrupted his thoughts, realising it might just be his mind playing cruel tricks on him again. After all, there was a job to be done and Smith _was_ a common surname. "Uh, Mr Smith, can you tell me when you last saw your daughter?"

Observing, DI Tyler remove a note book a pencil from his leather jacket pocket, Mike became a little shaky. "You mean, you want to question me?"

"Yes." Sam nodded, flipping to a clean page.

"Now?"

"We just want some answers, that's all, so we can track down who did this to your baby girl, that's all. Isn't that right Guv -"

Turning sideways, expecting to see his boss stood right next to him, a sour look glued to his face, instead, his eyes came in contact with thin air. Glancing down, Sam soon found his Detective Chief Inspector, passed on in the middle of the corridor, his body slumped on a near by hospital trolley.

Sam sighed in irritation. "Ignore him." he urged, scratching the side of his face with the end of his pencil. "Now, Mr Smith, when was the last time you saw your daughter?"

Mike paused for a moment. "Yesterday morning, just before I went to work." he replied, Sam's glare prompting him to continue. "My wife, Jillian , was taking her out..."

His world freezing, his writing equipment falling to the floor, the sharp clank of the lead splitting, Sam's mouth gaped open. 'Auntie Jillian and Uncle Mike.' he thought, his breathing becoming heavier; he felt as if he was about to be violently sick.

Mike placed a comforting hand against Sam's arm. "Are you ok, son? You've gone as white as a ghost!"

Sam blinked at him several times. Eventually, he shook any crazy thoughts from his mind, re-equipping himself with his writing tools. "Sorry, just a bit tired and all." he responded, flicking back to the fresh page in his handy note book. "Right, Jillian was taking her where?"

"To her Grandma's." he spoke once again, a small smile flickering on his drained face. "She'd been in here whilst Aislin was being born. Needed her hip seeing to."

_"Grandma had to go into hospital today, Sammy."_ Tyler could hear his Mum's voice tearfully speak to him, echoing around his head as she knelt before him, her eyes meeting his. _"She fell and cracked her hip. She'll need a little operation but she'll be fine, in a few days. Who knows, perhaps if you're a good boy, maybe we can go visit her? Would you like to?"_

"Grandma Lou." Sam shuddered with a whisper; in a fashion, it was all starting to piece together.

"You what?" Mike quizzed, his eyebrow raised, kind of creep out by the police officer's last familiar words.

"Uh, I need to go to the loo." Sam responded quickly, a soft laugh trying to cover his deliberations.

Before anymore questions could be raised by either man, a doctor came sauntering out of the emergency room, his spectacles perched on the end of his nose as he tried to remember who he was meant to be asking for.

"Excuse me, I'm Doctor Lowe. Are any of you the gentleman who brought the little baby girl in earlier?"

"Yes, I brought her in." the DI stepped forward a few paces, raising his arm as if he was a timid school child. "But this is her Father, Mike Smith." Sam pointed to his left.

"How is she?" Mike asked precariously.

"She's stable. There doesn't seem to be anything too wrong with her, no broken bones or anything like that. She's just badly bruised." Lowe frowned, himself with a few queries on his mind. "How did you find her?" his gaze redirected to Sam.

"She was just outside my door, in a basket with all of those markings on here. I brought her in as soon as possible." he fibbed slightly, reminiscing back to the debacle in the car.

"Oh, right. You'll probably need to speak to the Police about it later in the morning though."

Sam smirked. Delving in his pocket, he reached for his DI badge, the Doctor chuckling slightly. "Oh, ok then. Mr. Smith, can I ask for your daughters name?" he requested, taking her notes.

"Aislin. Uh, Doctor, do you know if a Mrs. Jillian Smith has been admitted?" Mike pestered, knowing for well that Dr. Lowe would probably be unable to help him.

The Doctor frowned, shaking his head. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Smith. They should have it on a piece of paper or something at the desk. Anyway, concerning Aislin, we'll be keeping her in for observation over night, just to make sure she is fine."

"Thank you, Doctor." Sam gestured gratefully, both of the conscious men shaking hands with the medical professional. Lowe cocked an eyebrow, upon seeing the rather large man in the tanned colour jacket barely conscious on one of his trolleys.

"Oh, that's my DCI." Sam rolled his eyes. "It's been a long day for him."

Dr. Lowe simply shrugged and walked away. 'What a state.' he tutted to himself, going to deal with more pressing situations.

Both Mike and Sam glanced down at Gene who, all the way through Doctor Lowe's explanation, has been snoring loudly, his body still perched awkwardly against the bedding on the trolley. The Detective Inspector decided to focus his attention on a more deserving matter. "Mike, do you not know where your wife is at all?"

That one question seemingly broke Mr. Smith's heart. His face slumped, almost touching the ground, his eyes freed of all light as he emotionlessly affixed his gaze to his feet. "No, not at all. I'm worried about her. She's been down every since she gave birth a couple of weeks ago." he groaned, almost angry with himself that he could uplift his wife's downtrodden spirits.

As both men crouched against the wall, Sam expressed himself. "It's probably a little bit of post natal depression. Tell me, is it your first baby?"

"Yes. We'd...she'd suffered a few miscarriages but thankfully we managed to carry little Aislin full term."

"She really is beautiful." Sam gushed, beginning to feel a little broody in the heat of the moment.

"Have you got any kids yourself?" Mike asked, turning his head faintly.

Sam shook his head in a darkened way. "No, not yet. I want to, it's just not a good time."

"Well, when you do get the chance, take it. It's such a precious gift." Mr. Smith wheezed, getting back to his feet.

"Mike." Sam yelled after him, just as he began to walk away. "Come and see me tomorrow at the station. I can perhaps help you find your wife and I _do_ need to finish asking the questions about your daughter."

Mike sighed. He hated Police stations, coppers in general in fact. Yet, there seemed to be something different about the Detective Inspector. A little _too_ different. "Very well, who should I ask for?"

"Me. Sam Tyler." he gulped, not wanting to hear the mans response.

Surprisingly, a light grin emerged on his face. "That's the name of my nephew. Well, we call him Sammy." a little warmth returned to his features. "Well, I'll come visit you a little later on, DI Tyler. Thanks for bringing her in."

"No problem." Sam beamed back, thankful that somebody was grateful for his actions. He peered at his watch, realising that it was nearly one thirty in the morning. He moaned in vexation as his eyes settled on the frame of his Boss. At that moment in time, it was extremely temping to just leave him there, to sleep off any last traces of alcohol in his blood before taking the Cortina and driving himself back home, hopefully getting a good few hours of refreshing sleep.

Yet, he knew that if he did that, they'd be hell to pay come morning. Grunting, Sam went and slapped the Governor straight in the face, his palm coming in contact with blonde stubble and sweat; all of the tension from the previous day had been exposed.

Sort of.

Gene awoke with a start. "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU DO THAT FOR?"he exclaimed, sitting in an upright position as he pushed his finger tips to his now stinging face, making sure it wasn't bleeding.

Sam smirked. "Pay back. Come on, I need to go to bed." he told, dragging a reluctant Hunt from the trolley and down the corridor.

As Gene toppled from side to side, the DI and the DCI made their way out of the medical facility. Once arriving outside, the cold evenings air hit Hunt like a ton of bricks, his senses becoming more alert, awaking him from his alcohol induced sleep.

Demanding the keys to the beloved Cortina, Gene protested. "It's my car - you did want to get to bed this evening, yes?"

"Yes, that's why I want to drive or we'll both end up back here." Sam replied, glancing up at the hospitals many floors as his Boss reluctantly tossed him the keys.

"If you as so much scratch her, I swear..."

Sam chuckled out of line. "Relax, Guv." he said, fastening his seatbelt tightly to his body. "When I'm driving, you have nothing to worry about."

During the short drive home, the Governors eyes kept drooping shut; the concoction of Malt and sleep depravity did not make a favourable state of mind. Tyler glanced over at him from time to time, glad that he wasn't have to deal with snide remarks of Grandma like driving or tardiness.

Ten quick minutes later, the comrades arrived back at Sam's apartment. Upon parking the car, the Detective Inspector had the unfortunate task of trying to get Gene into the building as quietly as possible.

"Come on, you're staying here tonight." Sam ordered, poking Gene in the ribs, his finger tips only finding mounds of fat. "Your misses won't be too happy about the stench of alcohol other wise."

This time, Hunt didn't even need to object. In fact, he was highly appreciative of his DI suggesting this (even if he didn't make this feeling obvious). At least he prevented an angry Mrs. Hunt finding out about his shenanigans.

Both men dragged their bodies up the concrete stairs, finding their way back to the apartment relatively easily. Once inside, Gene slung his jacket to the floor, Sam feeling obliged to pick it up and placing it on the new coat hanger he'd purchased a few days ago. He decided that since he was staying in the 1970's, he might as well make his flat feel more like home.

Before Sam could even ask his guest is he would like any food or drink (strictly non-alcoholic) Gene was already unconscious, sprawled out diagonally across Tyler's small and terribly uncomfortable bed.

"Guess I'm taking the chair, then?" Sam mumbled rhetorically, rummaging about inaudibly until he found a spare pillow and blankets for himself.

As his eyes shut gently, Sam's mind paced, the many sights and actions of the day dancing through his head as he ventured off into a restless dream.

But what would the rest of the day bring?

- - - - - - - - - -

Next time in 'Blimey, it's a baby!'

Another morning and another day working as a copper. But would Sam's day be successful? Would the team be any closer in finding out the culprit for the dead women's bodies?

Check back for more, soon!

- - - - - - - - - -

Hey, thanks once again to everyone who stopped by to read and review! I realise that the alerts weren't working but I usually update on either a Saturday or a Sunday, just for future reference.

Sorry you didn't guess JudasFM! BTW, I don't know if Ruth Tyler's Maiden name was ever mentioned, so I came up with one.

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	4. Chapter 4: A dose of reality?

_"It's a miracle that he managed to stay off life support for that long - it's obvious he isn't giving up the will to live, Mrs. Tyler, so we shouldn't give up on him."_

Sam awoke with a jerk a few hours later, his head spinning and his eyes still as sore as yesterday. It had been an awful night by all accounts, his mind wondering whilst counting sheep, he couldn't get any valuable sleep that he needed to function properly that day.

All through the night, he kept tossing and turning, images like a slideshow of his family scattered through his head. For some reason, they were all disjointed, totally incomprehensible, lacking any real sort of sense. Yet, he'd come to expect it by now. He was more than just a little used to it.

Sitting to an upright position in the chair, he squinted at the now empty bed. Rubbing his eyes and head, he pulled back the covers before staggering into the kitchen to make himself some breakfast and coffee. 'That should wake me up.' he told himself, making sure it was extra strong, almost black.

Whilst he was doing this, Sam took it upon himself to be nosy, to find out exactly what his guest was doing. Establishing the fact that his Governor was in the bathroom, he put an ear to the door, listening intensively at the gushes of water spearing the mans body, his singing atrocious as he continued with his business, unaware that the bathrooms usual occupant was stood directly outside, a small smirk attached to his lips which, from time to time, flickered into a grimace; Gene Hunt was certainly no singer, under any stretch of the imagination.

Sighing at the notion that he may never see the inside of his dingy bathroom again, Sam decided it would be a good time to eat. Plucking a strawberry yoghurt from the fridge, he sat at the miniscule table, his thoughts redirected to the day ahead. He knew for a fact he wouldn't be the only one with a sore head, by all accounts, it would be at least Chris joining that club, the Guv and Ray surely not that far behind.

Then, he musings focused on Annie. Yesterday had been an very big test of her Policing skills and, although she was a good hand in the office, had a long way to go before she'd be classed as brilliant. Yet, Sam valued her, possibly more than any member of the team. After all, he was the one to suggest in the first place she moved from the Plonk department to becoming a Detective Constable.

He knew that in time - and with a lot of guidance from himself - she would make a great asset to the team, even if everyone else doubted her abilities up to then.

Sam stopped his thinking for just a moment to hear that the Guv had now finished in the shower. Singing too enthusiastically for his own good, the DI could almost hear the glass shatter on his mirror as the DCI ventured off into another chorus of David Bowie's 'Starman'. A light chuckle passing his lips, Sam finished the tiny yoghurt, making his way back into his kitchen.

Suddenly, Gene burst out of the bathroom as if he was seventeen again. A confident but not arrogant grin lit his whole face up, Sam glancing up at him in a mixture of suspicion and genuine bewilderment.

"Morning."

"Morning, Sammy Boy." he giggled the most macho ways, poking the younger man in the ribs.

Sam examined his Bosses face thoroughly, a question pressing. "How can you be so bright and cheerful after the amount you knocked back last night?"

Another series of smiles hit the Governor's mouth, his usual pout not on display. Just yet. "It comes with many years of experience, my friend."

Sam nodded, trying his best to understand. If his hazy mind was certain, the Gov knocked back way more than a couple of pints the previous evening, and that was just what he'd seen. Ignoring his own inquisitive nature, he decided to address his guest. "Help yourself to anything you want. I'm just going to take a quick shower." Tyler spoke, wondering off into the main department of his flat, staring blankly into the cluttered wardrobe as if his days outfit was going to simply fall out into his scrawny arms.

After finding his outfit of choice, the Detective Inspector sauntered his way into the bathroom, hoping that a nice, warmish shower would rejuvenate him enough to be at least half awake through out the course of the day.

However, when he did venture off into the bathroom, he found the place a mess! Shaving cream all over the sink, his razor still covered in blonde stubble, his towels had been carelessly dumped on the floor in a heap, making it more than a little difficult to decipher which were cleanish and which weren't. Sighing in annoyance, Sam didn't yet have the energy to go give the Boss a gob-full so decided to make the best of the situation, mopping up any last splashes of water and wiping any last smears of shaving cream from his cracked mirror.

Just as he was about to step into the shower, he heard a voice bellow his name. "TYLER!"

Growling under his breath, he stuck his head around the door post, trying to cover his modesty in the best way he knew how to do. "Yes, Gov?"

"Ya got any 'oops?"

Sam shook his head; he was already too familiar with his Sheriff's idea of nouvelle cuisine. "No, but there's some brown bread and plenty of yoghurts in the fridge and fruit in the bowl." he stated, trying to re-direct Gene into a much healthier standard of living.

"Fruit's for fairies!" Hunt remarked, settling for some semi-toasted brown bread in the end with lashings of thick butter and blackcurrant jam.

After about twenty minutes, Sam emerged from the bathroom, his hair damp, his expression informing his Boss he was a little flustered.

"Nice shower?" Gene quizzed, flicking the TV off, dragging his body from his slumped position in the seemingly uncomfortable chair.

"Oh yes, how I do love ice cold showers first thing in a morning." he replied mockingly, rolling his eyes to add another touch of cynicism to the conversation.

Gene snorted. "Yep, well, cold showers are what make you a man, Sam." he told, pulling on his tanned jacket. "C'mon Dorothy, we've got to go before Cartwright gets her knickers in a twist that you aren't there yet."

Pulling on his leather jacket, Sam groaned freely; he could just sense it was to be one of _those_ days; the type of day you never knew what was coming next although it should have hit you like a ton of bricks several miles back.

Gene clicked his fingers in front of the younger man's face, making him jolt back to the present time. "No time to stand there day dreaming, Sammy Boy. We've got a job to do."

And with that, the Detective Inspector and Detective Chief Inspector had left the flat, making their way to the police station for another day of non-stop action.

After a brief discussion about the days previous misfortunes (yes, for a change, Gene Hunt _did_ do discussing!) Sam and his Boss turned up at the station, both stumbling from the copper coloured Cortina.

Upon their arrival, they strolled into the offices to see the team in their usual stooped state; Ray sat there, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, Chris mimicking the DS in a juvenile way, the only way he truly knew how to do, whilst Annie seemed to be the only person attempting the tasks of work, struggling to make sense of the scribbled notes and masses of paper in front of her.

Charging his way through the double doors, Gene took one look at his employees and shook his head. 'What a pathetic shower!' he mused, growling at the sights before him.

"Ok you dozy gits, listen up!" he demanded, yelling over the gossip and usual tittle tattle of the workplace. "As you all know, there is a brutal, savage killer on the loose. Today, we are going to do our up most to find this bastard - Preferably before tea time. So get cracking before I get Cartwright to come and jump on your knickers!" he joked, winking at the young woman as Annie glancing up for a split second from her mountains of notes before continuing with her duties, partly because she wanted to work her hardest and because she felt intimidated with the whole workplaces eyes upon her.

As everyone assembled at their desks, at least to pretend that they were working, Sam decided to go and speak to Annie. Strictly on business purposes, of course.

"Hey." he breathed, greeting her with a light kiss on her blushed cheek. "How are you?"

"Ok." she nodded, a slight smirk softening her face. "And yourself?"

"I'm good, thank you." DI Tyler repeated her gesture.

At this time, they both glanced at each others eyes, their gaze never locking.

"Sa-"

"An-"

They both chuckled a little at their simultaneous notions. They grinned to one another, Sam inviting Annie to speak first like the true gentleman he was.

"I'm really sorry for yesterday..."

"Don't be." he held his arms up in defence, perching on the only spare corner of her desk. "Everyone was stressed. Lets just put it behind us."

"Sure." her smile became warmer and a little broader. "So, did you figure anything else out to do with the case?"

Sam rubbed his chin; this one maybe more than a little awkward to explain. Could he really just say to Annie that he'd bumped into a man he thought was his Uncle, after finding a baby outside his flat door, after having one of the worlds worse migraines in the middle of a hospital accident and emergency department?

She told him to put all of the madness and 'time travelling nonsense' behind him when he came back. Yet, he felt he should be honest. He _had_ to be honest...well, about most of the story.

"You won't even believe the night I've had." he started, tightly gliding a hand over his blondish locks. A small yawn escaped his mouth, Annie with an inquisitive look on her face.

"Did you not sleep much?" she pestered, concerned and wide eyed.

Sam's face went back to it's normal expression. He sighed heavily. "You could put it like that."

"TYLER!"

The yell awoke Sam from his obscure side track. The DI blinked hard, not really wanting to venture into his Governors office but realised the consequences would be dire if he didn't.

"I'd better go, I'll explain later." he departed, gracing Annie with another peck on the cheek before heading to the cracked windowed, smoky, alcoholic stained, dirty DCI's office.

Already nursing a glass of whisky in his hand, Gene looked up, his body slumped against the trusty filing cabinet. "I'm so glad you took time out from chatting with your little girlfriend to come and talk about the case with me."

Sam rolled his eyes, already irritated and he'd only been in the damn department for ten minutes. "I was about to update Annie on the case, for your information, before you called me in."

Gene paused for a minute, looking away. "Right, well, I need you to explain to me what went on last night. I can't remember what was said with that bloke."

"You wouldn't do - you were too busy sleeping." Sam mumbled, looking in the opposite direction to his Boss.

Gene raised an eyebrow, not quite catching what his right hand man had said. "You what?"

Realising the danger of repeating his last sarcastic notion, Tyler decided just to answer Hunt's question, taking his notebook from his pocket. "Basically, Mr. Smith said that he hadn't seen his wife Jillian or baby Aislin since yesterday morning before he went to work. Mrs. Smith was said to be taking Aislin to visit her Grandma who'd just come out of hospital. Mike also said that he believed Jillian was suffering from post natal depression..."

"Post natal what?" Gene interrupted, easing his body into his special swivel chair.

"Post natal depression." his Boss still appeared puzzled so the Detective Inspector took it upon himself to elaborate. "New Mum's can get upset easily and often reject their child after their birth."

"So?" Hunt shrugged, not putting two and two together and making four.

Sam rolled his eyes. "So, it's possible that she did that to Aislin and dumped her somewhere. She'd realised what she'd done and didn't want to return."

"Oh blimey." Gene tisked, leaning back against the torn fabric on his chair. "What has this got to do with anything?"

Sam rubbed his soft face, not wanting to really predict something terrible. Then it happened again; his Mother's tearful voice addressing him as she stroked his hair for comfort, holding her only child close.

_"It's your Auntie Jillian, Sammy - she's been found dead."_

"No!" Sam cried, his breathing hasty, his body shaking. He turned away briskly from his boss, doubling over.

Gene was less than sympathetic. "What the bloody hell's up with you?"

"Jillian Smith...if she's been gone all evening, she could end up dead."

"Rubbish." Gene retorted. Then, his mind went back to the women's bodies they found over the past few days. The bloodied, battered, bruised women's bodies. "Ok, maybe it's not rubbish, maybe..."

"I should go!" Sam decided, spinning back around, making sure his leather jacket was snugly fastened to his body, his mind and body still in a state of shock. "I must go, find her, before it's too late."

Gene got up, perplexed by the DI's rapid reactions. "What makes you so eager to find her, ay?"

Tyler got right close to his DCI's face, their noses just millimetres apart. "There is a Husband worried sick about her and a baby girl who may not remember her Mummy if she ends up dead. I owe it to them to try and find her." Sam whispered, Hunt delving his hands into his trouser pockets.

Before the Detective Chief Inspector to even begin to protest, Phyllis came barging in, her usual stern appearance plastered to her face. "Gov, Sam, there's been another woman found dead never the river."

Sam let out a huge groan, combined with small, salty tears and an angsty voice. "I couldn't...save her?"

"There's been no confirmation of identity but you're needed at the crime scene." Phyllis told, Sam attempting to pull himself together for the good of the team.

But will be the body found be that of Jillian Smith?

To be continued...

- - - - - - - - - -

Hey, thanks to everyone who read and reviewed last time! Let me know what you think of this chapter!


	5. Chapter 5: Tension and the Spark

The short drive to the crime scene seemed to last far longer. The burnt orange Cortina, as usual, sped down the road, knocking over bins and nearly people as many complained about the noise of the revving, over heating motor grunting and charging down many back alleyways.

Yet, this time, it felt like a completely different experience.

Sam stared vacantly out of the window, clinging onto the handle - as always - for dear life. But, this time, he was completely oblivious to the sordid world around him. His face expressionless, his eyes blank of any feeling, a sigh of guilt escaped his lips, as if it had been a prisoner for centuries. Clearly, the young DI had a lot on his mind.

It must have been bad for someone like Gene Hunt to notice; a man that was usually so wrapped up in his own little world, playing the Sheriff in an old Western film, to really pay much attention to feelings of troubles. He had a job to do and under no circumstances could anything get in the way.

Since the Detective Inspector's outburst, Gene hadn't known how to react. He knew that Sam was passionate about his job, just like he was but in an entirely different way. Yet, his concerns that a young mother had died in his town seemed to shake him up in a considerably saddening way. He glanced over at him. Nothing. He was still gazing at the passing trees and scenery, unaware of Ray and Chris' meaningless banter in the back of the car, poor Annie caught in the middle of it all.

"She had huge knockers!" Ray grinned chessily, his whole face lighting up after his memories of the previous night in the Railway Arms.

Chris, flashing the same juvenile smirk, joined in the conversation as if he was forced to by some weird conspiracy theory. "Yeah, there always the best kind, the ones with the big tits."

Annie snorted; as much as she liked Ray and Chris (well, sometimes at least) she did find their talking somewhat irritating. That and their fascination with her bum!

Sam, who by this time had rejoined the land of the living dead, felt obliged to vent his spleen, for the sake of his girlfriend and out of respect for all of the women found dead over the previous days. "Why don't you two shut the fuck up and learn some manners!" he barked unusually for him, tired of their voices.

Gene's head snapped up; the typically mild mannered DI was taking his many frustrations out on his enemy within the station. Sure, Gene knew from experience that when his DI had a problem, he would voice them avidly. He couldn't count the number of times they'd argued over 'political correctness' or some other garbage that the younger man has felt deserved some sort of esteem. "Sam, leave it." Hunt spoke, a gruff tone settling over his speech like a rain cloud so that only Tyler could hear it. "We have a job to do - try and keep it in check."

Realising that his Boss was positively correct, Sam kept quiet for the rest of the journey, blanking out any meaningless gossip between the DS and the male DC. Annie kept her head down too, thankful that the trip was nearly coming to an end.

Pulling up randomly on the curb, Hunt nodded at his staff, a sign for them to get out of the vehicle. Sam went rushing ahead, Annie and Gene exchanging worried glances as Ray raised an eyebrow in pure, sickening suspicion.

"What the 'ell's up with 'im?"

Gene rubbed his chin; traces of unshaven stubble could be detected, even through the thick, black, leather gloves that his hands wore with pride, the perfect tag team partner for his fists for beating up nonce's. "I don't know." he mumbled, trying not to emit any emotions denoting his concern about his DI.

Racing over to where the rope had cornered off the crime scene, Sam flashed his badge to anyone that would look. Jogging for a few more seconds, Gene about twenty paces behind him, he approached the hidden figure, a sense of unease washed right over him.

'What do I do if it is her?' he panicked, a million and one thoughts tresspacing on his cornered mind. 'How could I tell Uncle Mike that his wife was found dead? How could I ever tell Aislin that I saw her Mummy lying in a pool of her own blood...dead?'

By this time, DCI Hunt had managed to catch up with the younger, and seemingly fitter, copper. He examined his face cautiously; you could almost see an anxious outbreak of cold sweat excrete from his skin.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Gene muttered, now diverting his attentions to the lifeless body underneath a grey blanket.

Upon his Detective Inspectors nod, he bent down, knees cracking and unsteady, heavy breathing from his Detective Inspector, he lifted the cloth away from the woman's face. Sam let out a sigh, a concoction of relief and thankfulness.

"It's not her." a small smile brought back some light to his shadowy face, his palms settling over his cheek bones. Gene pulled the cover back over her features, concealing her from any unwanted attention; the press were - as usual - being relentless; they wanted answers exactly there and then on any information regarding the murders in the city.

Noticing the prying eyes, Hunt stormed under the rope, flinging his hand up in the air. "KEEP OUT OF THE WAY, YA BLOODY BASTARDS!' he yelled, many wisely choosing to cower away to hide their identities from the police. Sam's eyes, however, were still transfixed to the dead woman before him.

_"It's your Auntie Jillian, Sammy - she's been found dead."_

His eyes locking shut, his nostrils flaring, Sam rubbed his temples for any means of escape. "Go away!" he cried, coppers at the scene of the crime turned around to spy the gentleman. "She's not dead! I won't let it happen!"

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" a familiar voice soothed, her voice calm yet anxious. Annie took Sam in her arms, forcing him to hold her.

Sam never answered her; he just kept his arms tightly wrapped around her curvy and inviting body. She brought great strength and comfort to him. And he knew she always would.

Gene fixed his gaze from afar; his Detective Inspector was acting strange...stranger than usual. He suspected that the case was affecting him or that he knew something incriminating about the women being murdered or the Smith family. Compressing his thoughts, he strolled over to the couple who, upon seeing the bigger bloke, un-embraced each other, Annie rubbing Sam's arm as a final warm sign of support.

"She looks in the same state as the others." Gene spoke solemnly, glancing over his shoulder to the covered corpse. "I think we need to start trying to draw some conclusive evidence - my gut instincts not working."

The pain admitted on his face that his main (and seemingly only) tactic was failing miserably, even a deluded and sidetracked Sam noticed; his bosses hands delved thoughtfully in his pockets, Hunts face collapsed; the fact that the city was unsafe for not only his wife but his mother worried him significantly. Action needed to be taken.

And fast.

Nodding and obeying their superior officer, Sam and Annie joined Ray and Chris in the Cortina. Gene took one last look at the woman before joining his team in the drivers seat; this whole case was beginning to disturb him. He could see the pressure embedded on his DI's face too, as if they were a reflection of each other. Just for that moment in time.

Sam closed his eyes, his lack of rest pestering his mind. His brain couldn't begin to function without sleep. Yet, his job came first, before his own selfish needs. They had to; it was _apart_ of the job.

Gene took his eyes for a split second off the sight of the road, his vision settling on Sam's face. "You ok?" he questioned, trying to show concern for the younger man but not in an airy fairy, nancy boy style. He wouldn't want to be giving anyone any ideas.

Sam reopened his eyes, Hunt's now fastened to the road. For once, the Governor was driving in a half sane fashion, taking note of his surroundings and the people on the streets. It was as if he was analysing the women, strolling about their daily business, nipping in and nipping out of the grocery shops, some even venturing to work, guessing in his mind which one would be next. Which one he'd be taking notes on from the mortuary.

"That's it, I've had enough!" Sam announced, everyone in the car turning to face the DI. "We need to find this bastard...and now!"

"Do you not think I've realised that, Tyler?" DCI Hunt retorted, as if it was a personal attack on him and him only.

Sam shook his head. He realised that he was losing his rag too quickly. "I didn't mean it that way." he spoke calmly, his voice lighter. "Yet we can't just sit here and _guess_ who's next. We _need_ to find the killer."

Gene considered his partners words for a few moments, thinking of how to reply. He grunted a little as they pulled up outside the offices of Manchester's finest police station. "I think I may have an idea."

Sam gulped; usually when the Guv had an idea, it would involve vast amounts of alcohol and male bonding.

Pacing back inside to CDI, Sam glanced at Annie as Ray glanced at Chris. Although curious about the 'plan' they also realised that the same line of thought killed the cat. They stood in a circle for a moment, neither man nor woman wanting to speak.

Foolishly, Chris decided to break the silence. "Those poor gals. What are we gonna tell their Mums?"

Before Sam could salvage an answer, his presence was requested in his Boss' office. Reluctantly heading in his direction, he locked the door behind him, as requested by the Detective Chief Inspector.

Keeping his voice low, only just loud enough for the other man present to hear, Hunt's steeling blue eyes meet with Sam's hazel pair. "Do you want to know what I'm thinking?"

Sam felt it would be wise just to nod, to avoid the line 'not really'.

Gene's eyes flickered from scene to scene of the office, noticing Annie once again struggling on with the work, trying to find any sort of lead that may have been missed whilst Ray and Chris stood for a 'well deserved' cigarette break. It sometimes made Gene loose sleep as to how lax them two were. And they weren't the only ones.

Leaning his whole body against his knuckles on the desk, Tyler imitated the actions of his Boss as if they were automatic, awaiting the plan of action.

Meanwhile, outside of the DCI's office, Annie was still shifting her way through endless amounts of paperwork. She was sick and tired of being the only person in the damn department to work but - at the same time - wanted to make a good impression; many of the men didn't take too kindly to women being in a 'mans world' so she felt she had to work extra hard in order to prove herself. That and she hated giving the impression to people that she was only there because of her then budding relationship with DI Tyler.

Opening up yet another file, DC Cartwright wasn't expecting to find anything of relevance to the case.

How wrong could the young woman possibly be?

Gasping, the brunette dropped the files on a heap on the floor, receiving a round of applause from the rowdy station of randy men who watched with distinct fascination as she bent over, her navy skirt around one of her finest assets as her cheeks coloured, dashing out of the room. Her emotions ran briskly through her veins, shocked and disgusted all at once.

However, back in the DCI's office, tempers were flaring and for perfectly good reasons.

"No, and that's it." Sam's firm frown and narrowed eyes told Genes nicer, more gentle side not to push it any further. In his own mind he knew the plan was ridiculous.

Hunt cracked his knuckles, almost preparing himself for the physical fight. Gene and Sam had come to blows many times before but today's heated discussion was more in the lines of mental quarrelling rather than anything else.

The Detective Chief Inspectors brows joined together, his look so stern they formed a mono-brow. "Tyler, I know you didn't want it to come to this. Neither did I." he watched his DI swiftly peep over his shoulder before shaking his head in disapproval. "This maybe our only chance."

"Only chance?" Sam cried, his emotions overflowing like a flooded river.** "Only chance?!" **He now refaced his superior officer, his nostrils enlarged, his fists clenched, he was about to give his Guv a piece of his mind. A rather large piece at that. "So putting at _least_ two of our female colleagues in danger is your idea of an only chance?"

Realising it had been well over an hour since his last topple, rummaging amongst the thousands of case files (all complied by one 'Hyde gay boy science lover', of course) Gene let out a large, smoky breath. Yep, he could just sense the longevity of this enlightening reasoning from his esteemed partner. So he decided to prepare himself.

Sam's face screwed up tighter now, uncharacteristically with more wrinkles than a Shar Pei puppy, his tapered eyes could barely make out the Guv's hand accurately yet swiftly unscrewing the Whisky bottle, his right hand casually cupping the shot glass.

_**SMASH!**_

The sound of a thousand pieces of glass shattering against the cold, tiled and incredibly filthy floor made Gene's mouth hang open in nothing other than shock. Sure, he knew Sam was going to have a fit with his nonchalant and perhaps a little arrogant series of actions. But, he never thought his DI would have the audacity to knock a full tumbler of whisky clean out of his hand.

Hunt couldn't even reply; he'd suddenly contracted a serious case of laryngitis as he gazed haplessly to the remains of the whisky bottle near his feet, barely, just barely, missing his beloved white loafers.

"If you think dressing Annie and another young woman up as whores, parading them up and down the streets of Manchester at the dead of night before trying to catch a cold bloodied killer is the answer to this case then you are very, _very_ sadly mistaken."

The rough and uncensored finger pointing his Detective Inspector had just acted out in front of him gave Gene a hasty anti-biotic to his throat problem. "Leave it out, Gladys." he cackled. He considered his next sentence carefully for a few seconds, deliberating whether or not to voice it. "The only reason _you_ think that it's not a good idea is because its the bitch _you've_ been screwing for the past couple of weeks who maybe getting involved."

Truth to be told, that was exactly it with Sam; the idea of anyone sexually harassing Annie, touching her, feeling her, groping her, killing her made Sam sick to the stomach. It was more than true though; he couldn't imagine anything worse in the world than that happening to her. It would make his whole reason for being back in 1973 worthless. Yet not for one second did he want to imply this to Hunt, the man that at times was seemingly in denial of any 'softly softly' feelings that may occur in a relationship.

"Ok, you're right. Maybe that is the reason. But, just for one second Gene I want you to do something for me; put yourself in _my_ position but with you and your wife. You come home from work one day, had a few too many in the Railway Arms, and get a phone call from _this_ very station telling you your wife's been found brutally murdered. Don't tell me for one second that you would ever, _ever_ want to put her in the position you want to put me and Annie in right now?"

Sam's now soft speech and harsh words left a nasty taste in the DCI's pouting mouth. He shut his eyes, the windows to the soul trying to contain any trace of emotion he may have from the younger man, his fist clamping to his mouth.

Before he could respond, a knock came at the door before Phyllis came strolling in. "DI Tyler, there's a gentleman here to see you. He says it's urgent. It's Mr. Smith."

Giving Gene one last sneer of disapproval, Sam escaped the clutches of the DCI's office, wanting to do something productive like advance the case rather than trying to discuss feelings with a man who was clearly out of touch with many.

But would Mr. Smith be able to give any valuable insight into the case?

To be continued.

* * *

Hey! Thank you very much to JudasFm, xX-Silver-and-cold-Xx and losttimelady for reviewing chapter 4 - hope everyone enjoyed this installment! 


	6. Chapter 6: You come off all concerned

Strolling into the 'Interviewing room' (yep, still the Lost & Found closet - one of the few things that Sam _hadn't_ managed to change during his time with the A Division in 1973) the DI let out a light sigh, accompanied with a sympathetic and daunting smile in the direction of one Mike Smith.

Sitting himself not so comfortably in a hard, plastic, black chair opposite the man whilst getting his tape recorder firmly into gear, placing his pens, pencils and note book in a repetitive order, the same method adopted by most of the robots from 'Hyde', Sam noticed the dark circles under Mike's eyes, the frowning lips and creased forehead, all common signs of a worried, angst ridden mind.

Sam Tyler recognised this because Sam Tyler had been there before. One too many times before.

Folding his arms in front of his chest, Sam leant back in his chair, as far as he could, alert yet trying to put his client at some much needed ease by his casual posture. Mimicking the Inspectors actions, Mike listened to Sam address the tape with details of whom was in the room.

"Is that, ummm, legal?" the voice shivered, a naked man in the North Pole.

Sam nodded before getting down to some much needed business. "Now, Mr. Smith, could you please tell me when was the last time you saw your wife, Mrs. Jillian Smith?"

Mike's eyes were clearly fixed on the table in front of him; he was unable to maintain any sort of eye contact with the thinner man. Sam, seeing the good in most people (or at least using the philosophy innocent until proven guilty, _not_ that that method was required in this interview) put his actions down to a hazy, sleep deprived body that could really be doing without a lot of fuss and questioning whilst knowing this was a completely necessary practise. "Two days ago. I left the house early to go to work, like always. Being a van driver and all, it's essential to beat some of the traffic."

_"Do you want to play cars, Sammy? Brum brum, c'mon son!"_

Quivering, Sam pricked himself, pushing the similar male voice out of his mind. "Tell me, how was Jillian that morning?"

Mike's answer was secure, as if it had been repeated over and over again before now. "A little tired. She'd been up all night, treating about Aislin. Both of them were crying a lot. Jillian couldn't breast feed her properly. She was shaking when she was changing her nappy. She was angry and frustrated, saying that she didn't know why she got pregnant in the first place."

_"Isn't that great, Sammy? You're going to have your first ever cousin! It'll be great, Mummy being an Aunty and you being her older cousin. You'll be so close, it'll be more like brother and sister!"_

"Yes. Well, um, where was she going?" Sam retorted the mind games, images of the so called passed plaguing his line of though as he fidgeted in his seat. Mike - being a little more than just on edge - took the louder speech as a sign of annoyance by the other man.

"I ALREADY TOLD YOU!"

The stamping of feet, scraping of metal against wood and screaming of perturbed words encouraged DCI Hunt to make his presence felt; he'd be stumbling behind the selves of Lost and Found (as quietly as humanly possible for a man of his size) deciding that it would be best for his Inspector to deal with this himself.

Alas, the notion of a scuffle was too much for the nicotine stained copper to ignore.

"Mr. Smith, I suggest you si' down and answer my Detective Inspector politely when questioned or you might be finding yourself on a charge."

Almost grateful that Gene had come to his aide, Sam nodded to him. His arms still plastered to his body, he continued his inquiries once Hunt took his usual stance near the small cell window, the only thing in the room offering any sign of light whilst Mike took his seat, regaining his pose.

"Mr. Smith, where was Jillian going with Aislin?" Sam's reiterating of the question made Hunt fold his arms too, his ears pricked for any notions of deliberations.

"To visit my Mother." Mike's reply was hesitant, almost timid. Gene cocked an eyebrow as Sam decided to continue, thinking in almost naivety that it was just the situation doing this to the man; he'd already expressed his distaste for the police, in a round about fashion.

_"Bloody cops - always trying to stick their noses into other folks business!"_

"And you've heard absolutely nothing from her since then?"

After a long pause, Mike's response was negative, barely audible and indecisive. By this time, Mr. Hunt was becoming a little tiresome with Sam's implementation of the 'softly softly' approach. He wanted some firm answers. And right there and then.

"Smith, are you sure that no one would want to kill your wife?"

Sam growled; an Alsatian locked in a barbed wired cage, trying to reach the carcass on the other side. The past ten minutes, not to mention the half an hour from last night, of carefully chosen words and deep concern were wasted in that one sentence carelessly passed by the Governor.

Unable to take the idea of accusations such as them, Mike buried his head in his hands, sobbing openly for the whole world to see. Hunt sneered at this. In reality, he didn't want to offend the man, far from it; it was possible that he was the teams only lead in the whole investigation.

Yet, unbeknownst to a fatigued and logical Inspector, there was something that seemed false about Mr. Mike Smith, a little too artificial for the Gene Genie to just ignore without some hardcore questioning.

The sight and sounds of his 'Uncle' crying were too much to bear for Sam. Getting up from his seat, Tyler wrapped a comforting arm around Mike, noting the cold air that whirled around him the second their bodies connected. He shook himself, now crouched before the new Father.

"We're not trying to imply anything, Mr. Smith, but we are just concerned because of all of the women at present who are going missing before being found...ummm..."

"Dead as dodos."

The Guv's blatantly obnoxious taunts and cigarette inhaling ways had finally struck a chord with Sam. Marching with no inhabitations of intimidation what so ever, the DI put nose to nose with the slighter taller man, now on tip toes.

"When will you learn to keep your bloody mouth shut?!"

Gene cackled. It was like adding gasoline to an open fire. Slamming Detective Inspector Tyler hard, unforgiving brick work, the sound of ribs cracking could be detected. The grasps of the collar made him struggle for breath, the DCI's body so close to his he could barely move his chest as he tried to gather what ever speck of oxygen available to him. "Look 'Sammy Boy' some of us _want _to close this case now rather than waiting for the turn of the next Millennium!"

"I do." Sam panted, his speech barely audible; Gene really was _too_ close for comfort.

"Well then, start acting like it!"

"I am - it's not my fault that you have to barge in here, intimidating everyone as if you're the bogeyman or something! Start showing people some re-..."

Sam groaned. "Oh my God." Mike had scampered out of the room, tape recorder in hand. That was the first indication to Sam of something very suspicious, systematically wrecking his chance of solving the case. Gene, realising where his DI's gaze lay, turned around, dropping him to the floor in a hasty and unconcerned fashion. After all, he had just yelled at him, the Gene Genie, Detective Chief Inspector of Manchester's A Division.

"Blimey! C'mon, don't just si' there - move, move, move!"

Sam, struggling for any breath to help him struggle through the day, pulled himself up as gently as possible, trying not to bang his injured midriff against the wall or any other fixtures of furniture, catching up with Gene at his normal jogging pace. They clambered down the stairs, looking everywhere; Mike Smith was not to be found easily.

"Bloody hell!" Sam cried. He dropped himself onto the concrete steps, hunched over; he was certain that it would be more by luck than judgement if he wasn't suffering from cracked ribs.

Hunt returned from his prolonged pacing, his eyes narrowed, squinting in annoyance and as a method of blocking out the strangely bright summer sun. Now sitting beside Sam, he noticed that his DI was in a great amount of pain, which he did actually truly regret inflicting on him. However, someone with pride like the Gene Genie was in no mood to apologise.

A few moments of near silence passed quickly, all that could be heard was Tyler's uncomfortable wheezing and shallow, sharp breaths. The superior officer was the first one to speak.

"Now what to we do?"

Sam chuckled wearily and sarcastically at that last inquiry. "Dunno."

The younger man's simple and rather short reply took an unsuspecting Gene Hunt by surprise. "You're meant to be the boy wonder from Hyde."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, and I was making progress before you stuck your nose in!"

"Me? Sticking me nose in? I was stopping it all before you found yourself with a black eye and a running nose!"

"I would have considered myself lucky - that's miles better than cracked ribs!"

Gene grunted at the last notion, rolling his eyes and snapping his knuckles, making the most disgusting sound that Sam had just been forced to be subjected to just moments ago. Tyler was still bent over, his rib cage giving him a severe amount of grief. "Give over - I never hit you that 'ard!"

Sam chocked back laughter...and blood. He was certainly in no mood for meaningless banter right now.

Watching the thinner man heave himself up, with a vast amount of effort and vexation, Gene joined him, surprisingly swiftly. "Where you goin' now?"

"Back inside - we've still got a case to solve, even if you have just pissed away one of the only means of help."

Walking back into CID shoulder to shoulder, at least an illusion that they were both on the same page, Sam's pain etched face attracted the attention of someone who was to take a great deal of trepidation over the matter.

Annie came over to them, lacing a hand against Sam's shoulder, clutching a couple of files with the other. "Are you ok?" she bent down a little, to force her boyfriend to look into her eyes as a non verbal sign to tell her that he was ok.

He grimaced, trying to stand a little straighter. She helped, guessing that the man beside her, still cracking his knuckled, had something to do with it; she and the rest of the gaggle at the station had heard the commotion coming out from Lost and Found, wondering what it all meant.

"Yeah, I'm fine." he breathed inwardly, a certain sense of relief brought to the brunettes worried complexion.

Gene groaned, annoyed to be hearing all of the 'lovey dovey shit' within an ear shot. "Have you got anything relevant to the case Cartwright other than how big the DI's dick is?"

Sam tutted at the last remark, Annie doing her best to ignore it as she revealed what she knew to the DCI. "Ok, well, it's probably nothing b-but..."

The deliberations coming from the Plonk quickly exasperated Gene; he could tell that she was anxious, her hand was shaking a little, as if she was intimidated by him and the revelations she had behind her lips acting as a solid wall. "C'mon, spit it out!"

Thrusting the papers into the more understanding of the two's grasps seemed like the wiser thing to do to Cartwright. Sam's eyes tapered, much like Gene's had done moments before. "Oh my God." his response was slight but deliberate, the focus taken off the pain in his chest and onto the scribbles before him. His mouth gaping, his head discouraged with the contents.

Yet, it brought the Detective a great sense of positive energy; if what he was reading was true, real (as real as life could ever be), it may have been a major advancement in the case.

"Guv?" his voice was uneven, like a rocky roadside, unsure if the hard man would find this at all relevant, or even want to hear it.

Hunt returned from his smoke ridden, yellow tinged office, Cortina keys and a rather large bacon butty (which Sam would later find out he'd stolen from an unsuspecting Chris) on his person, Gene looked ready for business...especially with the dribble of ketchup and butter down his dimpled chin.

"Explain in the car." Gene's gruff voice replied, tapping the younger man on the arm as a notion to go to his beloved motor as if he really did have a sixth sense.

Smiling sincerely to his girl before heading off to find the Guv, stumbling because of the ache still attached to his stomach as if he was dragging the bloody Test Card Girl everywhere he went (the sight of her made him feel sick), he pulled himself into the vehicle, Gene glaring at him.

"Well?"

Tyler handed him the paper, now being the one awaiting an answer.

"So?"

Gene wasn't very good at reading. Some days Sam swore he was dyslexic...or just very, very unobservant. "So, whoever's doing this, is aiming his target at the sixth house in alphabetical order by street names in Manchester. Guv, Mr. Smith and his family, I know, live at number six Gretna Road. I suggest I go down there, talk to Mike - alone - and then we have a little look around his property, to see what's happening."

A prolonged and baited breath silence for Sam forced him to inhale quickly, Gene still deliberating how to answer the last statement. "Why just _you_ going to speak to 'im?"

'Must be tactful'. Sam mused, clamping his eyes together lightly and lazily whilst the sun danced amongst his lashes; for that moment, he felt more at peace then he had done for ages, at least in the past couple of days. And he had no idea why. 'Perhaps another drug.'

"Oi, Gladys's." Gene's loud speech interrupted his DI's deserted deliberations as he snapped his fingers dangerously close to his face. Sam shook, awaking once again.

"What?"

"Why just you goin' to speak to 'im?"

Sam smirked a little, knowing that his next sentence would piss his boss off big time. "Coz I know a little more about, ummm, _diplomatic_ conversations than you."

His eyes on stalks as if he'd seen the biggest pair of tits the world had to offer, Gene slammed on the pedals, the Cortina almost leaving tyre marks on the road as he sped down the road at the speed of light, ignoring DI Tyler's last poignant remark.

But would Sam - or Gene - be able to get any joy from Mike Smith and his residence?

Check back for more, soon!

* * *

Hey! Just want to say a major thank you to JudasFM, crazytellyaddict, Futuristic-dudette, bigmelinafan, xX-Silver-and-cold-Xx, Mindless Image and losttimelady who all took the time to read and review the last chapter - hope ya'll like this update!

Ele


	7. Chapter 7: Memories

Pulling up outside the semi-detached, red bricked and cracked window paned home of the Smith family, Gene halted the voyage, just millimetres away from a chipped painted telephone box the opposite side of the road. His steely cold gaze was fixed on the road ahead of him, his face solemn and stern.

Gliding a hand over his dulling blonde hair, Sam Tyler turned to face DCI Hunt, letting out a huge breath of relief; after that traumatic journey, he was surprised that both he and the Guv were more or less in one piece, let alone the car that had shook constantly down the road.

"Right so I'll go in there and have a word, finish with the interview, and then come back and get you to search the house, yet?"

Stubborn and hot headed, Hunt chose to ignore his Detective Inspectors last question, his face stuck in the same position as it had been for the past ten minutes.

**"Yes?"**

"Whatever." Gene mumbled, his leather bounded gloves attached to the steering wheel, seemingly like he was never letting go (apart from to lay a not so pleasant fist against Sam's cheek). He was clearly not a happy bunny.

Sam rolled his eyes; he didn't have the time nor inclination to be dealing with his boss when he was behaving like this. "Brat." he muttered viciously, stumbling out of the car. Suddenly, a familiar voice grabbed his attention, halting him, making him attach himself back to the vehicle.

"What makes you so sure, Dorothy, that he's gonna be 'ere?"

Sam shrugged, bending over to peer through the glass which, on the other side, sat a Governor determined to prove his employee wrong...again. "I dunno. He hasn't got a lot of choice, to be fair, has he?"

With that, the younger man pushed his body away from the copper coloured motor, hobbling over to the crimson doorway of the house. His heart felt as if it was about to pound out of his chest, a concoction of pain, intimidation and apprehension collided like a train pulsating against a young child's body.

Knocking on the door, Sam waited a few seconds, swiping any last specs of dust from his usually glossy leather jacket. No reply.

Back in the car, Gene groaned; it was so tempting to bugger off down to the Railway Arms for more than a quick tipple, the rate this was going! To his own intrigue, he spied Sam bend gingerly down, shifting the Smith's bin a little to the left before laying his hands on a pair of silver keys.

Regaining some sort of straight posture, as well as he could do with suspected busted ribs, Tyler beamed over to the Gene Genie who mulishly had to admit that was pretty good of his DI to have the patients to _search_ for a set of keys, as opposed to simply knocking the door down with a hasty shoulder barge!

The warm air and woft of freshly made treacle tart, complete with the crumbliest, flakiest pastry ever tasted brought back fond memories of Sam's childhood as he slowly entered the building. He savoured the moment, his eyes loosely shut, his eye lashes flickering in and out of the light as his hands fumbled against the metal door handle, his mind only partially registering that he slammed the door a little too loudly behind him.

_"Are you going to be a big boy and help Auntie Jillian with her cooking? Uncle Mike will be impressed, Sammy!"_

"What are you doing here?"

A blunt bellow came from the shadows, a man lurking from the distance. Sam's vision snapped open, his heart skipping a beat. "Unc- I mean, Mr. Smith, I thought you weren't home..."

A sharp snigger approached Sam, erasing any lasting thoughts of serenity, directing him to be cautious as Mike began to speak. "I knew you'd be back."

"Back?" Tyler unintelligibly responded, confused and weary.

"Back to haunt me, hurt me, try and get answers from me! Well, it isn't going to happen. Not this time."

Swallowing hard, saliva clogging the back of his throat as if he'd swallowed buckets of phlegm simultaneously, one after the other, Sam attempted to reason with the obviously confused and frightened man, his own senses becoming vigilant. "Mr. Smith, I am not here to haunt you or to hurt you, far from it. However, I am here to try and get reasonable answers from you in regards to the disappearance of your wife and the injuries sustained by your baby girl."

Mike contemplated the words, his eyes darting from side to side, like a bumble bee hopping from one pollen stained plant to the next. He stepped away from the dimmer light, his and Sam's faces only centimetres apart, their shaky breathing heard by either gentleman. "Ok, but please promise me that your Boss isn't going to charge in here at any second and arrest me?"

"You have my honest truth, sir, that if that does happen, it will only be on your say so and his decision, not mine."

Nodding sceptically, Mike gestured for Sam to go into the green furnished living room. _'This takes me back.' _Sam mused, a slight smile aiding his features as he spied the family portrait of his Mum, Dad, and Auntie and Uncle at a family wedding, their own grins white and genuine, their eyes peaceful and content. Except for one mans. The picture, Sam remembered, was taken half an hour before his Dad disappeared, never to return...

"Can I get you anything?" Mike's tone suddenly became amicable, certainly more relaxed and willing to comply to the copper's inquires. Sam spun round, taken aback by the sudden quizzing; he'd been too lost in his own world of mystification that he hadn't registered the other man's company. "Tea? Coffee? Water? Anything stronger?"

Slamming his knuckles together, a possible barrier to his own nervousness, Sam declined the offer graciously, taking a seat and preparing himself for the possibility of answers he didn't particularly want to hear.

Mike took the seat opposite Sam, out of the direct line of vision from the window; the last thing he could be doing with right now is people strolling past, carrying on their daily lives whilst snooping into his.

"Mike, mate, I'm sorry that my Guv was so...so direct with you earlier but - in a way - he was right. With all of the recent female deaths in the city, it may be a good idea to think about if there are any people that do hate your wife and would possibly want to see her..."

"Don't even say it."

Mike's barely audible speech made Sam shudder, his head bowed down in infamy. "Sorry." he frowned, realising that his good intentions may not have seemed as pure as white after all. "It's just it has been several days now. We _need_ to find her."

Mr. Smith stood, his body torment ridden, his arms wrapped so tightly around himself it would be impossible to ever let anyone in again, like a solid steel gate. He stood, ambling over to the window, making sure the majority of his body was safely concealed behind the thick, Carnation encrusted curtains, in an array of pastel shades of pinks, yellows and blue hues. Suddenly, he broke the near calm atmosphere. "I thought you said your boss wasn't here?"

Sam gulped. "Yeah, well, he insisted on driving me here." he smiled weakly, trying to put the man once again at ease.

Mike nodded vaguely, drawing the curtains swiftly shut. He fiddled with them for ages, making sure that absolutely no signs of light were possible to pass through, his humming an attempt to block everything out of his confused head. Sam's face cringed, knowing that this would be the perfect sign for...

"DON'T MOVE - YOU'RE SURROUNDED BY AN ARMED BASTARD!"

Gene, 'don't call me twinkle toes' Genie blundered into the house, his revolver securely erect in his eager palms. Sam's own hands were a defence mechanism, a non verbal sign for the Guv not to move a muscle - or pull a trigger - as he went to comfort a cowering Mike Smith.

Forcing his beloved gun back in his navy blue trousers, Gene tutted, encouraging a look of displeasure from his DI. This whole thing was now in the stages of driving both of them insane; the murders, the lack of evidence, the one man hell bent on not telling the Police anything - or everything - that he knew.

'A perk of the job.' Gene cogitated to himself, delving his hands further into his pockets; at least then, it would prevent him from shoving Sam out of the way and laying a not so professional fist against the chin of Smith.

Trying to persuade Mike to move away from the corner of the living room, his body crumpled between two arm chairs, Sam peered over to him, having to admit to himself that he was more than a little tired of this game. "Come on, Mike, this is really important now. Think about it, the quicker you answer my questions, the quicker we'll be able to leave, go back to the station and continue looking for your wife, yes?"

The slow nod of the head by the recent father made Sam glance over at Gene who was a little more satisfied at the response. "Ok then, well, tell me if your wife has any enemies, people that she didn't get along with, anyone..."

"No. Everyone liked- _likes_ her." Mike's sudden correction made Gene cock an eyebrow.

"Right. Well, I can tell that we're not going to get much joy out of you. C'mon Sam, lets go. It's obvious this Nancy's not gonna help us."

Realising that the Governor could well be right, Sam slowly got to his feet, regaining his composure. Mike stood too, following the two men who casually strolled to the door.

"If we get any information on Mrs. Jillian Smith we'll contact you immediately, ok?"

Mike nodded once again, almost comforted by the Detective Inspectors kind words.

The Police officers left, standing side by side on the door step. Gene exhaled loudly, distinctly disgusted at the amount of time wasted with a man who obviously (at least to him) had no intentions of co-operating what so ever. "Guess we'll be payin' 'im another visit when we find 'er body, ay?"

Sam only grunted a reply; he was still bent awkwardly over, his ribs sore, aggravating him.

Gene had to admit that seeing his mate in pain did bother him...a lot. Almost a hint of guilt was present in his voice when he addressed his officer. "Perhaps we ought to get you to hospital, get them ribs looked at."

Hunt waltzed on in front, dragging the car keys from his pockets. Stumbling after him, Sam eventually managed to cry a response.

"No!"

"No what?" Gene turned back around to still see the same sight he had moments before.

"No hospitals, doctors, nurses, surgeons...no nothing, I'll be fine in a couple of days."

Being Gene Hunt, the kind, relaxed, gentle giant he was, he decided to test his Detective Inspectors theory for himself. Bounding back over to him, obviously still wracked with pain, his fist collided with Sam's gut, taking the wind completely out of him. Falling to the ground like a sack of shit, Gene helped drag his fallen officer up, as tenderly as he could which, in fact, was very much so.

"Come on, we'll get you to a hospital." he breathed, guiding the much lighter bloke into the Cortina and driving like a mad man towards the nearest medical facility.

- - - - - - - - - -

It had been half an hour since a doctor took Sam away to be assessed. A nurse had been out to inform Gene that his Inspector would be needing an X-ray which would take a couple of minutes longer than expected due to a lot of casualties being brought in within the past couple of hours.

Deprived of any alcohol (he'd diminished the contents of all of his flasks whilst waiting for Sam outside the Smith's residence), cigarettes (he'd finished his last packet off whilst waiting for Sam outside the Smith's residence) and anything to do, it was safe to say that Gene Hunt was becoming rapidly impatient. Folding his arms grumpily across his chest, he stretched his legs out as far as possible, his round tummy more visible.

His attentions were soon re-diverted when his vision came in contact with a beautiful, young blonde woman who'd just stepped through the doors. Sitting to attention, the Gene Genie fixed his hair a little, a small yet cheeky grin attached to his lips.

"Alright, darlin'?"

The woman never turned to acknowledge him, merely carried on with her business at the reception desk, her eyes only shiftily scurrying from side to side of the sockets. She spoke in nothing more than a mumble, not wanting any prying ears to detect her inquiries.

The girl on receptions face dropped, her mouth falling into a grave pout as she wrap her thin arm around the lady's shoulder, steering her towards the ward.

Rumbling, Gene's eyes slammed shut, tired and frustrated on more than one level. He realised he was to blame for this whole mess, he had to be honest with himself; if he hadn't lost his rag so quickly or lashed out of Sam so abruptly, they wouldn't be in this mess in the first place.

Gene contemplated calling the station, just to let them know both of them were ok - sort of. 'No point in that.' he deliberated. 'Phyllis would only get confused, not to mention that dozy Plonk Cartwright getting 'er knickers in a twist.'

Another hour passed by, in which Gene got more and more bored and more and more annoyed. Finally, a rather flustered appearing Detective Inspector approached Gene, a stern and unforgiving expression on his face. Snatching his pills from the nurses hands, he knocked Hunt's shoulder with his own, sauntering straight past him and outside.

Gene, gob smacked at the blatant display of ignorance by his partner in non-crime, followed him out of the door; for somebody a few hours ago who could barely stand, he was managing to walk fairly quickly now.

"Oi, Tyler!"

Sam didn't respond to his Chief's orders; he simply kept moving, trying to dull out the pain.

Suddenly, when nearly back at the Cortina, Sam stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes glazed over, his mouth quivering in shock, Gene strode up behind him, only for the younger man to continue.

The near platinum blonde haired woman, who had minutes ago captivated the Guv, was now having a similar impact on Sam. But for an entirely different reason.

He recognised her, a distant memory almost lost amongst many other that were more prominent in his mind, his voice only being able to utter two dislodged words.

"Auntie...Jillian?"

To be continued...


	8. Chapter 8: Questions and inane answers?

Sam Tyler's eyes were overpowered with emotion; an untamed lion bowling a man over like a rag doll in a single, startling pounce.  
"Au- Jillian...Mrs. Smith!"  
He called her name again, swore to himself that the body rapidly scurrying away from him was that of his Mum's sister-in-law. Yet he could never be certain. Nothing was _ever_ completely definite.  
Upon hearing her name being yelled frantically behind her, she pulled the dull grey trench coat up closer to her face, a bid to conceal her identity from the prying eyes of the night, to hide her tear stained, rose cheeks and her emptied yet plump mis-section. Her breathing became vacillating, cautious, scared. She didn't want any trouble.  
She just wanted to get away.  
She ran, as fast as her chipped stilettos would carry her, making sure she left no clues, no form of identification behind. No nothing.  
"Please, Mrs. Smith, it's ok, I'm DI Tyler...I'd really appreciate a few minutes of your time..."  
The mention of coppers appeared to make her move faster; Jillian Smith had disappeared far into the darkness by the time the Detective Inspector had managed to get to the street corner, his own breathing wheezy, out of sync with his body.  
"Fuck."  
Gene Hunt was now stood directly behind his hunched over DI, the pain killers given to him about fifteen minutes ago obviously not working quickly enough for his liking. The DCI frowned at this; his mate looked like he was about to fall over - again.  
"C'mon, let's get you 'ome."  
Sam didn't even try and argue. In fact, he would have been more satisfied if Gene had picked him up and carried him to the car, instead of making him walk! DCI Hunt wrapped a steady arm around his shoulders, a way of guiding him back to the vehicle as well as preventing any mishaps from occurring. He really did care about the well-being of the younger man, even if he had a strange way of showing it sometimes.  
Abruptly, as both men were reaching for the door handles of the Ford Cortina, Gene helping Sam as far as he could back to the motor, a frenzied male voice arose across the dim air. "Police? Wait!"

"Here we go." Gene growled, himself now at the stage where he was ready for nothingness. The white jacket dressed the man who both DCI Hunt and DI Tyler remembered from a short, stressful day ago, despite everything that had taken place.

"Dr Lowe?" Sam mumbled, standing next to his Guv. "Is everything ok?"  
Dr Lowe, panting and folded over (he'd manage to out do himself, running much to fast for his flabby, middle aged body to handle) addressed the men. "Please, I need to speak to the two of you, urgently."  
The dynamic duo rolled their eyes to each other; they could just sense that this wasn't just going to be a quick exchange and a goodbye. It was going to be a long, drawn out affair, like one of those parties your parents made you attend when you were little, the ones where you'd have to sit aimlessly in the middle of a dingy town hall whilst your relatives walked past, making inane comments about your height and features.  
'_My gosh, Sammy, you are a big boy now! Look how handsome you are!'_  
Both men were far too lethargic by now for one of those occasions.  
Sam and Gene had been drafted into Dr. Lowe's office on the second floor, directly above the accident and emergency department. It reminded Sam of the medical dramas he thought he used to watch, the ones where everyone would run about like mad men and women whilst diving into closets at two second intervals for a quick shag instead of getting on with the job in hand. Sam sneered at those memories, sneered at the bad name programmes like that gave to such people who worked in them industries. These were the same people that - like the Police - deserved more credit and respect than they ever got. Those were the same people that battled to save lives everyday. Lives like…lives like Sam's.  
Gene, his thoughts stomping in his mind, like a miserable grizzly bear, snarled, his arms folded across his chest. "Looks like we won't be getting back to the Railway Arms before closing time now, ay?" The Guv looked over to Sam and cracked a half arsed smile, trying to re-direct his mind away from the pain in his abdomen.

"I wouldn't be able to drink anyway." Sam retorted, exhaling grumpily. He saw Hunt cock an eyebrow, obviously not on his wavelength. Not that he ever was, mind.  
Reaching into his leather jacket pocket, DI Tyler pulled out a translucent brown bottle, rattling the miniscule pink tablets harshly against the plastic to attract more attention to his discomfort. "Two weeks." he smiled angrily, dumping the bottle back in his pockets.

Gene sniffed, rubbing a hand against his forehead. "Could be worse though - could've been yer 'ead I smashed in."  
Before the DI had time to reply, Dr. Lowe sauntered into his office. Before closing the door, he made sure the 'busy' caption was noticeable on his door; he didn't want anyone interrupting him at this precise moment in time. Locking the only means of escape out of the office, he took a seat next to Gene on his desk whilst Sam occupied the chair in the corner, nursing his sore ribs.  
"Thank you, gentleman." Lowe's voice wavered, taking a cigarette packet from his trousers, passing them around.

"Ta very much." Gene beamed, gladly accepting nicotine. Sam declined.

"Argh, yes, wouldn't go too well with a pair of cracked ribs, ay?"  
Sam's eyes conical, Gene's broadened. Really, the Detective Inspector was sick and tired of caring for other people or to hears others snide remarks, even if that wasn't their intentions.  
Right now, he wanted to be selfish; go back to his not so glamorous flat, fix himself a little bit of comfort food (even a healthy, fit lad like that needs to indulge every once in a while) before collapsing on his bed for the rest of the evening. "What is it that you want, Mr. Lowe?"  
Sam's voice was incredibly low, his attitude blunt. He really wished that this conversation could wait until the morning.

"Yes, well, you were the chaps that brought baby Aislin Smith into the hospital, yesterday evening, yes?"

"That's correct." Sam replied mechanically, shifting his body in an attempt to be more comfortable.

"Well, a lady just went into look at her. I'm not sure who she was or anything..."  
Scrambling about for his note book and pen, Sam was now about to listen with great intent. "Sorry, can we get a description of the woman?"

Lowe blinked guardedly at Tyler, who had pen to paper awaiting his reply. "Ummm...tallish...blonde, green eyed, looked like she'd been crying a lot. I didn't get too good a glimpse at her - she ran off when I came into the room."

"Tell me, was she wearing a dull grey trench coat?"

Recollecting briefly, Lowe nodded his head. "Yep, I'm ninety-nine percent sure she was."  
Gene and Sam glanced at each other cautiously. "Did she say or do anything that you'd regard as...as a little odd?" The Inspectors last question was open to much deliberation from the Doctor.

"Well, I did try speaking to her, ask how she got in like, but she didn't reply."

Gene gulped. "I saw her being led by your receptionist down the accident and emergency corridor whilst I was waiting for mardy bollocks over there." the Guv told, gesturing over to his right hand man. Sam, however, was too engrossed by now to listen to his boss' childish insults.

"What did you say to her?"

"I asked her what she was doing in there, who she was. She never said anything. Just...just left."  
Tapping the pen against the coil on the end of the pad, Sam frowned. "Ok. Thanks for your time, Dr. Lowe. Is that everything?"  
The Doctor's face slumped. He stood, turning to face the door, looking away from the copper's who's both pairs of eyes stayed affixed to him. This next suggestion was going to be far from easy. "You see, ummm, the thing is..."

"C'mon, spit it out Lowe - we haven't got all evening."  
There was no wonder that the hospital workers face became even more fragile, his hands shakier, at the gruff words from the DCI who had spent his cigarette so unbelievably quickly.  
Seeing a further look of worry from the Doctor, Gene did his best to reassure him there was nothing at all to fear. "Now, look 'ere Doctor. There's nothin' to be frightened of - we're the police! If you need protecting, anythin' like that, why don't ya just say so?"  
Momentary images of the countless times Gene put the boot into a suspect or throws a fist here and there flashed through Tyler's imagination; Oh yeah, good protection all right!  
"Well, you see, we've been trying to get in contact with Mr. Smith all day and we know from what you've said that Mrs. Smith is no where to be found." A huge sigh escaped him, like a prisoner in one of Hunt's jails, the last bellows of smoke absconding, the last light from the stick, gone for good. The next part was going to be awkward. "We need to discharge baby Aislin, we haven't really got enough room to keep her here. I was wondering..."

"No, no, no, no!" Gene droned, his hands resolutely fixed over his ears as he shoved the Doctor out of the doorway before standing startled in the corridor; he sure as hell didn't want to hear Lowe's next notions.  
Sam - equally as apprehensive - could just about guess what was about to be said but had the decency to hear the doctor out.  
"Would you look after her, just for one night? Then, in the morning, I'll send someone round to your home to collect her."

Sam snickered slightly. "With all due respects, Dr. Lowe, I have no idea how to look after a baby, honestly, I don't."

Lowe, however, was going to be more persistent then either police man was going to give him credit for. "Please?" his voice became higher, whinier. Sam rolled his eyes, much like his Guv would have in that situation. "It will literally be for only...what, six, seven hours? Come on, please? I wouldn't ask unless I was desperate."

"Technically, I'm not a childminder. I'm just a copper." Tyler chortled at the use of the word 'just'. If only people realised the battles he had to go through on a daily basis, and they were just with his DCI, let alone with any criminals or murderers!

"I know. I know, I just really need someone who I know I can trust her with. Who better than a Detective Inspector?"  
The sweet talk hit a nerve with Sam. The look of uninterrupted pleas and a sympathetic smile accumulated to his reluctant reply. "Ok, ok, fine, I'll do it. But I have nothing for her in my flat - I'll need stuff like nappies, bottles, dummies, whatever."

"That's fine. I'll get one of the nurses to kit you out. And thanks."  
Doctor Lowe shook Sam's hand thankfully, leaving him to his own devices for a few seconds whilst he went to collect the baby in the question. Gene Hunt - who'd been doing his best to earwig whilst not being directly apart of the conversation - crashed back into the room, his whole expression dragged down by the mishap of disgust.  
"Tell me you didn't do what I think you have?"

Sam's eyebrows tapered, his speech hesitant. "Sorry."  
That had been the first time he'd ever apologised to the Governor and meant it. Hunt knew he was being sincere it to, his eyes widening in shock as he leant against the wooden doorpost, connecting with the hazel pair across the room. "So you're gonna be loookin' after the little brat for 'ow long?"

"That 'little brat' will only be with me for a couple of hours until someone comes round and collects her, bright and early."

"Well, good job I'm not stayin' round yours tonight - wouldn't want a baby cryin' in me ear 'ole all night!"

"Pity that." Sam's sarcastic remark was barely louder than a whisper; he didn't fancy having a couple of more broken bones adding to his CV.  
Hunt's face creased, obviously in need of some answers (amongst other things - a pint of Bitter to name but a few). "So, _why_ are you looking after 'er?"  
Watching Gene's hands fumble across his body, his search for any cigarettes that may have, just might have, fallen from the packet and into a pocket, Sam ruffled his hair. What was he actually meant to say? _'Oh yeah, it was right was Tony Crane said - I really am from the future, she's my cousin. It's my Mum's Brother's Daughter...'_  
Sam's lips protruded, his shoulders jerked. "I don't really know. But she'll be safe with me." he stated sharply, standing from his chair as a figure emerged.  
The Detective Chief Inspector examined the baby as she was passed over to Sam. For some reason, he could never imagine being that...that Fatherly, to anything. Some days he'd wondered, you know, what it might have been like to be a Father, some bodies Daddy. Yet, his wife had never wanted kids and - therefore - he didn't.  
"Now then little Aislin, here's your adopted Daddy for the night!"  
Dr Lowe's cheerful voice matched his beaming face. In a way, he was reluctant to hand the baby who he'd been caring for over the past couple of days to anyone. But, it was a copper he was handing her over to. Everyone trusts the Police.  
Scooping Aislin into his warm arms, Sam's gaze attracted the attention of DCI Hunt; he did not look amused. Mind you, looking un-amused was becoming general practise in Manchester's A Divisions...  
"Hello, gorgeous." Sam's voice became higher, baby like, as if he really was Aislin's Dad. Gene watched DI Tyler with great suspicion as he balanced her between his upper limbs, resting a hand tenderly against her soft, fine brown hair, a feeling of cotton candy melting between his fingers of a warm, August day.  
Sam, preoccupied, almost mesmerised by the baby once again, he barely acknowledged a nurse come wondering in to pass Mr. Hunt a rather large, even heavy, bag. "What's this for?" he quizzed, his nose rising as if he'd got a whiff of a sewage plant.

Dr. Lowe tried his hardest not to burst out laughing at DCI Hunt's own, rather peculiar expression and bemused tone. "That's everything that DI Tyler requested for the baby." he replied in a mild mannered way, referring his attentions to the other man. "Now then, like I said, someone from another hospital will be coming to pick her up early in the morning to give her to someone who can look after her until the parents come forward. Make sure you've seen their papers before hand, with a written statement by me. We don't want just anyone running off with her, do we?"

"No, we certainly don't." Sam softly chuckled, only hastily glancing up.  
As the Coppers were about to leave, Dr. Lowe had a few departing words for the couple. "Thank you once again. Good bye and good luck."

"Yeah, we'll probably need all of the luck in the world the way the Gov drives!" Tyler mumbled lowly under his breath.

But how would Sam's night of playing Daddy go?

Check back for more, soon!

* * *

Hey! Thanks to my loyal reviewee's from the last two chapters - I love reading comments, positive or negative. This story is going to be taking a wild U-Turn (hopefully everyone will see it that way!) within the next couple of chapters, so stay tuned for that!  
Thanks for reading and, if you can, please review! 


	9. Chapter 9: Playing Mary Poppins

The duo of Gene Hunt and Sam Tyler walked astonishingly calmly back to the raging Cortina, complete with baby in toe. The DCI gave his right hand man a rather peculiar glance, his eye brows cocked as he lent against the car, a pout returning to his lips.

"So, are you actually sure you'll be able to look after that baby?"

Looking down at the bundle in his arms, Sam shrugged lightly, not wanting to wake her up. "I dunno, I'll give it my best shot though." he replied thoughtfully, diving into the vehicle. "After all, it won't be that long really, only a few hours."

Gene screwed up his nose in a look of pure disgust, revving up the motor. "Ok, be it on your 'ead, Mary Poppins!"

"As per-usual."

Sam's careless and soft mutterings provoked a certain sense of awkwardness in Gene; the lad was becoming far too attached to that baby and he was almost worried that a night together would make them even more so. Plus, there was a rather burning statement bruising his conscience.

"'Er Father, he's bent, ya know? You can tell - he 'as shifty lookin' eyes, Sam. I don't trust him. He knows far more than he's lettin' on."

Puckering his lips in quiet deliberation, Sam tisked a little. "I dunno. I think he knows something but he's just frightened, scared for his family. All we have to do is..."

"Gain his trust, let 'im confide in us and then 'e'll help us, blah blah blah, 'eard all that shit before, Tyler! Don't help - makes matters worse coz we hang around, wasting valuable time instead of nailing the bastard. Plus, this time, o' be joyful, we're in full glare of the media."

The Gov's mimicking voice wasn't harsh or irrational; just firm, trying his best to be reasonable, for a change. Sam put it down to him being deprived of alcohol and nicotine and he decided to preserve any last spec of them in his blood steam by not arguing.

'Nah, that's way too logical for Gene.' Sam decided, looking over at his Boss and smiling frivolously to him.

Arriving back at Sam's flat, DI Tyler spied his Gov wearily; neither man had spoke since leaving the hospital car park, Hunt merely on a rampage to break the speed limit as the younger man grasped onto the child tightly in his arms.

Much to the Detective Inspectors surprise, Gene twisted his hefty body, grabbing Aislin's night time belongings that had been dumped carelessly in a huff on the backseat of the Cortina. Sam was a little stunned, his eyes suspicious.

"Oi, Dorothy, I know I'm 'andsome but there's no need to stare!"

The outburst made the DI blink, remembering just where he was. Really, there wasn't a single comment in his head that could be a good come back from that remark. Only a sentence attached to a sarcastic tone which, inevitably, would lead to another pair of cracked ribs. Sam declined that option.

Striding on ahead, Gene's posture was as proud as ever, demanding attention from the dark sky and any waster still awake to notice. He clambered up the concrete steps, stained with last nights blood, vomit tinged with alcohol and countless sweet wrappers. It made the Chief Inspector tisk; it really was about time his DI found a better place to live than this... this dump.

Sam, ambling behind his boss cautiously, manage to salvage a watch on the young child in his arms; despite the dull lighting and almost threatening surroundings, his felt strangely at peace with the bundle lying gently in his arms, his eyes animated with compassion and awe.

His neck still cranked in the same position, his gaze transfixed to Aislin, Sam's motions were mechanical, reliving sub-consciously the same actions that he went through on a daily basis.

Managing to reach the flat first, Gene lent his body restlessly against the cracked door frame, huffing a little as he waited. And waited. Finally, his DI strolled over to the door, blindly attempting to find the correct key. Taking his vision away from the baby girl for only a split second, he pushed the door open, Gene close behind him, slinging the carry cot and baby bag down on Sam's miniscule bed.

It had puzzled DCI Hunt as to why Sam had insisted on holding Aislin all the way back to his make shift home, instead of letting her lay comfortably in the cotton lined crib.

Feeling a pair of unyielding, icy cold pair of eyes burn a hole through him, DI Tyler finally made contact with the other man, breaking effortlessly his own trance.

Gene's raised brow prompted a question from the younger guy. "You ok?"

Hunt considered the question, clearing his throat a little. "Yeah, guess."

Sam's attention wavered from his Chief, like a sandy beach awash with careless waves, soon re-focusing on the baby in his grasp. He was just... completely and utterly fascinated with her. He'd never felt this way. It was a welcomed new experience, one that he wanted to treasure for as long as possible.

Gene, himself strangely occupied with the whole situation, decided to head home. After all, it was too late to go down the pub, he couldn't have a smoke (not for the want of trying) and - most importantly - his missus would be expecting him tonight, especially after the previous evening's events.

"Right, well Sammy Boy, that's me done for the day." Gene announced, digging his hands into his navy trouser pockets, searching for the Cortina keys, which - thankfully for him - he found in a hurry.

Once again back in reality, Sam tenderly placed the youngster in the cot, wrapping the blankets securely around her frail body, anxious not to wake her or harshly touch the bruises littered on her body.

Hunt headed to the door, waiting for some sort of response from his DI. "Ok, bye, and thanks, Gov."

Gene appeared perplexed. "What for?"

"Ya know, helping me bring stuff in and all."

Gene was slightly embarrassed, his palms sweaty and clenched. "Oh. Ok. Glad I could be of 'elp." he shrugged, opening the door as silently as possible.

Following like a lost puppy, Sam had a few departing words, pointing over to the other man. "But, I'm not thankful for the cracked ribs."

The two men chuckled lightly, their faces alight with a surprising amount of glee. "Night, Sam."

"Night, Gene."

As the door closed, it seemed as if another one opened. Now, Sam was expected to play Mummy and Daddy to a newborn who mere presence pestered his sub-conscience, toying with the idea that she might be his cousin.

Peering into the cot, the baby was soundlessly awake, her small mind trying to make sense of the unfamiliar and dim surroundings. Affectionately stroking the child's hand, Sam smiled into her eyes. "Don't worry sweetheart, you won't be stuck here for long."

He made his way over to his tiny and somewhat dingy kitchen, wracking both his brain and his cupboards for anything to eat. He glanced at his watch, noting that it would soon be time to take more of his pain pills.

Tapping his fingers rhythematically against the hard surface, Tyler's tongue beat against the roof of his mouth, his hand sitting comfortably against his hip as he shut another cupboard. Still nothing appealing to him, nothing that he desired. Yet, his stomach was telling him to choose, and fast.

A concoction of hunger, dizziness, fatigue and aching bones forced Sam to just grab a lone Kit Kat from the bottom shelf. Tearing the wrapper limb from limb, he shoved the chocolaty goodness as fast as he could down his neck, the sugar bringing him an instant sense of perkiness, a small grin returning to his lips.

He examined the packaging curiously. Kit Kats were one of his favourite chocolates back in time; the creamy, milky chocolate, carefully wrapping the crispy wafer like a child in a Mother's womb, were always a quick pick-me-up. Although - Sam did have to admit - he did prefer Chunkies!

Tossing a couple of the intimidating pink tablets down the back of his pallet, Sam dashed to the kitchen, gulping down a huge glass of water, a mere attempt to vanish the unholy taste stuck - for what seemed like forever - in his mouth. Wiping away the last few drops of water from his chin, Sam made his way back into his living room, ready to settle down for the evening. Hopefully, a night of relaxing, peaceful dreaming with a warm, soothing atmosphere, as if he was back lying on a pleasantly hot, golden sanded beach, the sun beams gracing him with a tan...

As if!

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

_"I don't know whether we can call what Sam is experiencing progress, Ruth. Really, truth to be told, we are back to square one with him. It's a mystery why someone who fought for their life for so long would just carelessly toss themselves off a building at a great height like that."_

_He could see his Mother. He could see Frank Morgan. He could see his Mum's face drop, her eyes glued to the tissue that her hands grasped with great strength, seemingly her only source of comfort in such troubled times. She was at his bedside, again, looking like she'd never slept._

_"He must have had his reasons. My lad would never do anything like that, not my Sammy. He loved- he loves life."_

_"Well, from my point of view, he obviously didn't value our efforts quite enough, did you Sam? Ay?"_

_The rough hands, shaking him, his body flinging against the rails like a rag doll. The plastic, emotionless, wrinkled face against his own, the arrogant, conceited voice._

_'Why aren't you stopping him, Mum? Why are you letting him do this to me?'_

**"WHAHH! WHAHH!"**

Bolt upright in his bed, panting, ice cold sweat with a rapid pulse, the shrill cries of a baby woke him right up from his nightmare. He sat for a moment, his head in his hands, his frame juddering, he couldn't make sense of anything anymore. He'd thought he'd solved his problem, thought that he was alive in 1973, not 2006.

All of it was beginning, again. And, once again, he had no bloody idea how to stop it.

His dimming hazel eyes blinked away sleep, tears and sweat, realising he wasn't the only one who needed caring for. "Aislin." he whispered, pulling away the dulling, green duvet, unravelling his body and fighting away any last shades of tainted dreams.

Bright red, inflated cheeks and strident cries seemed to be baby Smith's only way of communicating. Panicking for a second, Sam realised that he'd never really held a baby until the other day. Now, he was up to his neck in nappies and dummies, trying to decipher just what he was meant to do with the little cutie.

He lifted her from the crib, so carefully like she was a ticking bomb, cupping her tenderly in his arms, his skin against her soft, fluffy pink sleep suit. He beamed to her, trying to bring some form of peace to her wailing soul. She squirmed a little; unfamiliar surroundings, unfamiliar smell of dodgy aftershave, unfamiliar everything.

"There, there, darling, shhh for cousin Sammy now." his soothing voice made her cries quieter, her sobs becoming fewer but still as jittery like a knackered car engine. A half frown kidnapped Sam's lips. He didn't know if she was in pain due to her injuries or if she was just tired of being shoved to pillar to post constantly.

Then, the thought crossed his mind that she missed her Mummy. Not just for the warm breast that fed her. But for a different type of heat; compassion, protection, love...all these things and more.

He lifted her up slightly higher, to get a better look at her beautifully young face, full of innocence despite her more than rocky start in the world. "You have no idea how hard life is." Sam's solemn statement was accompanied by a prolonged, doubted, inward breath, a headshake with his eyes slamming tightly shut. "I...I hope for your sake you're never as confused as I am!"

He snorted at his last comment, grasping her closer to his body. He felt her kind warmth surround him, bringing him some sort of hope. He perched on the end of his bed, ready to bare his soul to her. "You know, I miss my Mum...I sometimes don't know whether I did the right thing, jumping off that building."

Sam paused, blinking; he'd only just realised that what he was saying sounded completely and utterly mad! Yet, thankfully, he realised that she wouldn't have the verbal skills at such a young age to voice her opinions on the matter so continued anyway.

"I just don't know. At the time it was such...such a split decision." he sighed oppressively, gazing up at the dusty, dull white ceiling. "Do I stay with the woman who has loved me through thick and thin through all of my life? The loving lady that played both Mummy and Daddy to me, protected me from the harsh playground who told me my Dad was bent? The same person who sat at my bedside for months on end, willing, pleading for me to wake up, her only child. Or, do I stay with the woman who I love? The woman who...who I'm more or less certain is my soulmate in a time where I've felt more alive, more needed than in my entire life?"

Salty water bubbled against his eyes, his vision hazy yet set against the girl. "Yet, my Mum could never offer me the love I crave most, the love that everyone craves most."

He dwelled on his melancholy musings for a moment, a light smile returning to his darkened features. "Mind you, I guess you won't have to worry about that for a long while, huh?"

Her lips formed into what seemed like a slight grin, the two beaming at each other for quite some time. His tender hand placed lovingly against her rosy, silky cheek.

Then, she struck.

To be continued...

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Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed last time! I really appreciate your comments and hope you continue to like thi story. And thank you to Iaveina - if you read this I hope you enjoyed it too! 


	10. Chapter 10: Visitors

_"ARGH! Wh-what are you doing here? What do you want?"_

_The little girl smirked, her grin wide with evil intentions as she listened to Sam's trembling voice and shaking body - you could practically hear his teeth chattering, his knees knocking and his heart pounding against his already fragile ribcage._

_"Oh Sam, don't look so scared!"_

_Her innocent blonde locks swayed as she crept closer, closer, closer..._

_"Pl-please, leave us alone!" his eyes slammed shut, he turned the baby in his arms inwards, her vision blocked so she didn't have to view this...this monster of a girl. _

_He continued to shake like leaves falling from a tree in a tornado. Her scent was becoming painfully near; a mixture of pear drops, sickly sweet chocolate, lollypops and, oddly enough, burning. Sam often thought that the latter of the stenches was due to the flash of bright white light, the one that blinded him, knocking his senses completely off balance. Of course she was going to intimidate him, make him terrified._

_And she was doing it again...for the first time in weeks._

_"Relax Sam, it's only little young me! Aren't you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?" she blinked sweetly, etching nearer, and nearer, and nearer..._

_Sam's nose screwed up in pure anguish. "Piss off!"_

_'Blondie' (the nick-name he'd given her, at least compressed in his head) gasped inwardly, not too apparent, as if she was allergic to such emotion. "Oh Sam, that's no way to speak to a lady! What ever would your Mummy say if she heard you say such things?"_

_That hit a nerve, sharp like a Rottweiler's canine. "Leave Mum out of this!"_

_"What's the matter, Sam? Is Mummy not here to protect you?"_

_"Shut up! Just le-leave...now!" _

_She continued to smile broadly and brightly at the begs by the older man. "Mind you, Mummy was never there to protect you, was she, Sam? She might have stopped you getting ran over. Or you jumping off that building. Or..."_

_**"SHUT UP!!!"**_

A loud bang at his wafer thin, almost knackered door made Sam Tyler's head jerk up from his pillow. He was laying in a rather precarious position, his pillow somehow shoved in the middle of his bed, his legs half hanging off, half hanging on. He spluttered. His head was killing him. He rubbed his eyes, remembering just where he was.

"Aislin!"

His mind re-directed to his guest, he leapt over to where she was sleeping. Her small eyes loosely shut, she was fast asleep. "Thank God she didn't get you." he muttered breathlessly, leaning against the cot, swiping a splash of sweat away from his brow, letting out an overdue sigh. Then, another tap came at the door, this time a little softer, more considerate, with a timid yet intrigued voice accompanying the knocking.

"Sam? Please, it's me, Annie. Let me in, honey."

Running a hand through his off-blonde head of hair, he strutted over to the door, thankful for her presence. As soon as he laid a hand against the door knob, a smile bursted on his face; he was truly blessed to see her.

She entered, as equally a thrilled face greeting him warmly with a light yet delicious kiss.

"Morning."

Their simultaneous gushes didn't come without reservations. Annie's lifted lips soon turned to a little bit of a frown. "Oh, so it was true what the Gov was babbling on about, then?"

DI Tyler shut the door promptly, turning to face his sweetheart. Her arms plastered across her chest, a slightly raised eyebrow nearing her forehead, Sam delved his hands into his trouser pockets; it had seemed like too much effort last night to change into a pair of pyjamas. His eyes caught her distracted gaze upon the baby in his flat. "Yeah, just for last night though. Carers should be here any time soon to come collect her."

DC Cartwright, protruded her lips, her arms and gesture relaxing. She nodded. "Oh, ok. You could have called me, you know, I would have come round and helped you. She wasn't too much trouble I hope?"

Sam beamed. "No, she was as good as gold all night." Then, his eyes became narrow, inquisitive. "You said the Gov rang you?"

"Yep, that's right."

"Well, isn't he in today?"

Annie's head shook, her shoulders shrugged. "Nope. He said that he couldn't make it and he didn't know when he'd be back in. He told me to tell you that until then, you were in charge and to head the female murders link closely, especially from the leads you looked into yesterday."

He could tell from his girlfriends blurb and her unsure, uneasy expression that something was up. "Gene never misses work. He loves getting away from the missus!"

Annie shrugged yet again. "That's what he said though."

Silence fell across the room, a thousand and one thoughts lingering in Sam's mind, like a smoky, packed out Cabaret Bar. It just made no sense at all that the Governor wouldn't be in. The only leads Sam could think of were the ones from his Uncle, Mike Smith's place.

"Annie, how much emphasis did he put on the 'leads from yesterday' part?"

Cartwright recollected briefly, certain of her response. "A lot. Why, where were you?"

"You know Mike Smith, the bloke that came into the station for questioning yesterday - her Daddy?" Sam pointed to the bundle in the crib, sidetracking Annie for a split second. "Well, the Gov thought there was something suspicious about him, so we went round to investigate."

"Did you find much out?"  
Sam shook his head grimly, a vexed frown appearing on his lips. "Nope. He just said he had no clue what-so-ever about where his wife could be."

Annie swallowed. Hard. "You don't think he's in some kind of trouble, do you?"

Even though their voices were soft, almost to a whisper, baby Aislin woke up, roaring her head off, his cheeks an explosion of crimson. Annie, being closest to her, picked the child up, cradling her gently between her arms. "There you go, darling. It's ok, Aunty Annie's here."

Sam shone on the inside; Annie would make the perfect Mother one day. Then, his mind reversed back to business. "I tell you what, once Ai's been picked up, we'll go round to his house and check it out. He might just be ill or something."

"Oh, ok, but Sam, who's Ai's?"

Sam blinked deeply yet impulsively. "Ai is Aislin - what I use-"

Before the Detective Inspector could continue, a brisk knock came at the door.

"Saved by the Bell and I'm not even Zack Morris!" Sam mumbled, Annie mishearing whatever her lover said as she rolled her eyes at his gentle jogging towards the door.

"Best not to ask." she spoke mellifluously to the baby girl, rubbing their fleshy noses together.

After a fairly quick departure from the carers, who were more than satisfied with how the child was cared for, Sam and Annie jumped into the vehicle that Cartwright had used to get to Sam's place with as they made their way to the Gene Genie's semi-detached home.

DI Tyler had only visited his Bosses house once, the time when he was on murder charges about six weeks ago. The place itself didn't seem too shabby but didn't appear to be the most inviting or warm of shelters either.

Pulling up, Sam eyed the property wearily, his lips twitching.

"Are you going in on your own?" Annie spoke sweetly, he head cocked on one side. He turned to face her.

"Yeah, I think so."

Annie didn't even need to voice her opinions for Sam to tell that she was both relieved yet a little nervous for him at the same time.

"Why, did you want to come in with me?"

"No, no, no, I'm fine, thanks!"

Her fast response and grateful smile told Sam it was a good time to leave the motor and to go and inspect the house. As he made his way over to the porch, he did consider it a little odd that the Gov's beloved Cortina wasn't parked outside. Simply ignoring his thoughts, Sam hammered the door, (so that Hunt knew that he meant business) shocked as it swung open.

He turned and gazed at Annie, her hand swishing in the air as a signal to go in, to see what he could find. Sam inhaled, as if he was venturing on an around the world voyage, stepping inside the Chief's home.

Tyler's first impressions of the place were certainly what he was fearing to expect; the building was barely lit, smoke staining the air as the ceiling turned into a nicotine, off yellow colour. The overpowering whiff of the booze and cigarettes frightened him to some degree; Gene was in desperate need of fixing his addictions. He peered down gingerly at the carpets, the once white fabric now burdened and tarnished with spilt single Malt, black coffee and what even appeared to be blood. Shuddering, Sam shut the door two, taking another coy and hesitant step into the world of the Hunts.

With the TV blaring loudly, Sam didn't notice another soul was behind him, breathing heavily with irritation; they hated intruders, almost as much as their life partner.

"What d'ya want?"

The gruff, almost feminine voice made Sam jump out of his skin, spinning on his heels sharply. Unwisely, he pulled his injured ribs in the act. "Uh, Mrs. Hunt?"

"Yeah, who's askin'?"

She trudged her way past him, her broad shoulders coming in contact with his body roughly as she left a trail of fag smoke behind her. Sam's initial thought were that she was as nearly wide as she was tall!

"Come on, I 'aven't got all day!"

The sarcastic tone made Sam alert, as if it was Gene scolding him once again. Then, he squinted at her, just to make sure it wasn't him in some sort of disguise. Then, his mind re-focused on the height difference so he spluttered a reply. "Uh, Sam, DI Tyler..."

"Oh, you?" her voice became almost a sing song, a slight chuckle accompanying her cynical words. "I've 'eard all about you."

"Really?" Sam didn't know whether to be pleased about that revelation or not.

"So, what is it?"

Not able to make eye contact with the other person, amongst the soot and dark light, Sam couldn't take into account her expression, only her already irritated tone. She shuffled about from one room to the next, each as equally mutedly lit as the other, as if she was clearing up magazines and over flowing cigarette ashtrays in some fashion or another, ash carelessly bumbling over the side of the rounded glass. Sam - although he would never admit it - was too intimidated by her to follow.

"Is Ge- is the Gov about, please?"

"Huh, you must be jokin'!" her laugh turned into a nicotine devoured cough, almost like a Witch's cackle. "He hadn't been 'ome all night! I though he were with you again, pretending to be coppers!"

Sam glowered openly, her language harsh and unjustifiable. He chose to ignore these feelings; there was urgent work to be done. "Ok, well he wasn't. He called my colleagues earlier..."

"Oh well at least you lot got a call from 'im!"

Her extended drag on her ciggie and bitter style made Tyler realise why his Gov was reluctant to return home most nights, even if he'd never openly admit to this. "We just wondered if you had any ideas where he would be calling from?"

She hacked some more phlegm from the deepest darkness depths of her throat, managing to salvage a handkerchief from her apron. Sam benevolently appalled face and mind behind that decided it would be best just to leave. He too was starting to get a tickle in the back of his neck, fearing for the safety of his ribs at this point.

"Thank you for your time, Mrs Hunt." Sam bid farewell to his Governors home, his voice cowardly, shutting the door abruptly behind him before sighing and inhaling as much air as his deflated lungs could manage, trying to rid them of the environment he just stepped out from.

He spied Annie, a warm, inviting soul awaiting him back in the car. He trotted over to the vehicle - partly in fear of his life considering Mrs. Hunt was striding from the gloom of the building complete with a rolling pin in her left hand - putting the pedal to the metal as if his name was Gene Hunt!

Annie - her lips inward as she bit the fleshy skin as a means of not screaming for dear life - held onto the handles in the car as well as her seat. Her expression was recognisable to Sam, he'd seen it many times before, in the distorted reflection of dirt and vomit stained bins as the Gov's beloved Cortina came to a screeching halt. Much like the puny car he was driving now did, directly outside the grey, action packed offices of Manchester's A Division.

Annie gasped, her palm shaking against her pure skin to make sure her heart was still beating. "Sam! What was that all about?" her voice was hoarse and made Sam feel sorry for subjecting her to that.

"Sorry, it was just..."

"'Ang on, let me guess, Gene's Missus scared you and you ran, yeah?"

Sam felt his cheeks burning as he saw his girlfriends lips become plumper, her arms folded across her chest; she knew already that she was right. "Uh...kinda."

DC Cartwright snickered, her smile as dazzling and white as ever. "Oh you!" she playfully smacked him on the arm. "Don't worry about it, even Gene's scared of 'er!"

"I wasn't scared." Sam announced, his chest rising, his posture becoming more proud, despite of the pain such a pose entails. "I just... I just wanted to get back to you, that's all."

"Yeah, yeah."

Their frisky eyes and smirks became passionate as Tyler leant in for the kiss, both savouring every second of the final moments they would have alone together for the most part of the day. Their hands fumbled over each others bodies, wanting more than just a quick snog as the fabrics of shirts mixed, their mouths doused in each others breath. Yet they cherished these moments while they could; Sam - for one - was only too aware of how quickly events could turn out of your favour.

Then, someone came banging on the car window, abruptly disabling the romantic moment.

"Alright, Boss?"

The Detective Inspector, a little annoyed of the interruption unwound the window and let go of Annie, once again touching the steering wheel. "Alright, Chris, what's the matter?"

Liquefied, greasy butter leaking from between the soggy chicken sandwich, DC Skelton mumbled a reply. "There's another bird, Boss, been found dead this morning."

Sam rumbled freely; today was now certainly not looking hopeful.

Check back for more, soon!


	11. Chapter 11: The Bitter Sweetness of Life

Arriving at a new crime scene with DC Skelton, DC Cartwright and DS Carling in toe, DI Tyler strode on ahead to try and discover exactly what had gone on with this murder. The sun beating down on him like his DCI's fists, Sam was in no mood for this right now. It had been bad enough that the whole time during the car journey, Ray kept whining about Gene not being there. Questions like 'When's the Gov gettin' back?' or 'What's up with 'im?' or 'How are we gonna cope without the Gov?' nearly drove _Sam_ to murder!

Yet, he kept a strenuously cool facade about him. He had to at least stay professional, if nothing else.

Kneeling down beside the fresh corpse, Sam decided to wait until his colleagues trundled over before doing any detective work. He was certain that they could all do with a little training in the matter of how to handle a dead woman's body (some more than most).

Hearing his knees crack, the Detective Inspector squinted over to them, the sun doing it's best to completely annihilate his vision. Just by their walks he made them out, or more like, just from their _shadows_ walk he could make them out.

First, there was Ray, ambling along, a cigarette dangling between his finger tips as he blankly glanced around the place, trying to keep a small amount of wit about him; he didn't even need to open his mouth for everyone to know that he really couldn't be arsed. It was his whole slovenly attitude that prevented him from ever reaching to the Detective Inspector's position. Even the sometimes sloppy Gene Hunt would admit this, right in front of the man if he had to, just to prove a point.

Then there came Chris, the same dopey expression surgically fixed to his face with the same, slightly worn, cheesy grin, imitating Carling's nicotine habit to perfection. Sam tutted at this; it was about time Chris realised that he was going to turn out to be a much, _much_ better copper than Carling could ever dream of being. It was about time that he started conducting himself in the way he thought he should for the sake of the job, rather than how he currently did for the sake of 'keeping in with the lads'.

Then, Annie followed. Sweet Annie. She was by far the most assertive out of the three, desperate to prove herself to verify the idea that women did belong in the Police force and that times were more than certainly changing. Sam breathed as she made her way next to him, a thoughtful appearance in her crystal clear, blue eyes.

"Look's like it was the same person - or people - as before, then?" she sighed traumatically, dumping her brown leatherette bag next to her crouching frame; even if she didn't want to admit it to the males of the team, the series of female deaths in the city was starting to rattle her, making her wish that she didn't have the job that she did, just in case...

Sam knew she was scared. He didn't want to announce it in front of everyone else though; it would be stupid to embarrass her like that. Especially in front of chauvinits like Carling. "Yeah, it seems so." Sam deliberated, scratching his head with the end of his biro.

Taking a heavy drag on his fag, Ray decided that his marginal input was needed. "Whoever's killin' all these skirts needs to be brought to justice."

"Do you not think I realise that?" Tyler retaliated, blinking up at the Detective Sergeant from the ground; he knew that that had been Ray's personal dig at him. You could just tell from his shifty, sleazy expression, his gesture pointing towards Sam even though it didn't appear apparent to everyone else. Perhaps.

Ray never replied, merely tutted in his same nonchalant fashion, his eyes rolling in the same sarcastic, over the top way, his head moving from side to side like a pendulum with arthritis.

Chris, sensing that there could well be a punch up decided quite wisely to try and redirect the conversation back on the matter in hand; without the bold presence of the Gov, it could all get nasty rather quickly. Although Sam was usually a fairly sedate person, Chris realised that DS Carling was the person that could always push him over the edge. He threw down his cigarette steadily before he began to talk, in a surprisingly calm and rational way.

"Do you think we need to get a post mortem done?"

"To be honest, I don't think we do." Sam growled, standing from the dust and blood spillage. "It seems pretty clear that she's been brutally murdered like all them other women."

Annie, still squatting on the floor, wrinkled her nose, moving nervously over to the body. She crawled closer, biting her bottom lip. "Detective Inspector, can you smell something...sweet?"

Sam returned to her side, taking a sniff of the young girls blonde hair and skimpy clothing, her flimsy, off yellow skirt screwed up and torn. "Yeah. It smells like...like treacle pudding."

Sam's head shot up. He remembered the Gov's musings of looking at the leads from yesterday, the smell he fell in love with yet again when he went into his Uncle's home...

"Shit!" Sam's subtle outrage was audible enough for Annie and Chris to stare at him.

"What's the matter, Sam?" Miss. Cartwright moved closer to him, rubbing a loving hand against his bicep. His gaze was blank as he stood gingerly, his body trembling lightly in rage and shock.

"This can't be happening...no way."

Chris peered across at Ray who rolled his eyes yet again. He had just about enough of Sam Tyler's stupid outbursts from over the past few months and was already pissed off that the Gov wasn't there to save him from this madness, to be on his 'side' at such a time.

"For God's sake, stop over reacting and tell us what's goin' on!"

It was as if DI Tyler was in a trance; he didn't even react to Carling's harsh quizzing. He scampered over to the car, soon out of breath; it wasn't the best of ideas to skip breakfast and miss out on a couple of pain killers with a pair of busted ribs.

His girlfriend wasn't too far behind. "Sam, wait, tell us what the heck's goin' on!"

"No time for that, just in get in the car!" he puffed, Chris following hastily with Ray stumbling over in his own time. As usual.

"Sam, please, what's going on?" Annie's pestering irritated Sam slightly, her urgent voice he felt was slightly unjustified. Yet, he knew he did owe them some kind of an explanation.

"You know I told you about the leads the Gov was on about yesterday?" a sharp turn and reverse made all members of the car pause for breath, Tyler's driving uncharacteristically rapid. "Well, when I went in the house it smelt _exactly_ how that woman did."

Annie's eyes widened. "No way? Mr. Smith? Aislin's Daddy?"

Sam's seemingly non-existent nod and consequent silence provoked Annie to lay a comforting hand on the Inspector's knee; she was sat with him up front, as his support. He placed his palm only for a split second on top of hers, smiling lightly to her. His attention were solidly on the road ahead, nothing else.

"Do you think it is that Mike bloke then, Gov?"

Chris' slip of the tongue made Ray's face squirm in anger. "Don't you ever, **ever** call 'im Gov, **ever** again!"

"Sorry Ray, it was only an accident."

"He's no where near as good a copper as Gene 'Unt!" Ray gesticulated with his cigarette end.

Chris, slightly taken aback by Ray's outburst tried his best to rationalize with his pal. "I wouldn't say that, Ray, they're both so...so different!"

Sam went back to answer the youngest man's inquiry; he could see in his wing mirror Ray's deadly, red hot glare at the Constable. "I don't think he did it but the Gov was right when he said that he wasn't telling us everything."

Skelton - knowing that he couldn't provoke an argument any more if he tried - frowned. "Yeah but, Boss, lots of people eat and make treacle pudding, not just 'im."

In his DCI like haste, Sam gasped, annoyed at his own thoughts. He ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, you're right, Chris. It's just a little odd that Gene would say that, that's all."

"It's Gov to you." Carling bitched, snorting at the DI's response.

"Yeah, and it's DI Tyler to you."

"C'mon Ray, let's not get all hecked up about this. The Gov did say on the phone that Inspector Tyler was going to be in charge until he got back."

Annie's reasoning just managed to piss Ray off even more, despite her amiable voice. He opened the window, leering out for the rest of the journey, refusing to speak to anyone. Especially not Chris who'd just committed the offence of the life time, at least in his books.

They pulled up outside of the house, Sam had a sinking feeling in his gut; there was something about the house that just wasn't there yesterday; an icy cold shell, so frozen in time there was no means of cracking it.

Tyler became saddened by all of this. Yet, his Gov and mind were for once in faultless sync with each other. He needed to do this.

And soon before more women's lives were lost.

"How are we gonna do this, Boss?" Chris' newly found inquisitive nature was something that made Sam extremely proud of his younger accomplice; it did go to show that his time in 1973 Manchester hadn't been at a complete loss.

"I'm not too sure, to be honest." a rough thumb traced the outline of his jaw as DI Tyler continued to hold his gaze to the outside, his vision locked on the distantly familiar building enclosing his thoughts.

Ray snorted ostentatiously in the back. "Well, you'd better come up with a plan soon."

"If you just kept quiet for a minute then maybe I'd be able to."

The car went completely silent; the only sound to be heard was that of Chris fidgeting in the backseat, looking for the penny sweets that had fallen out earlier in his trouser pockets and Carling deciding to be increasingly irritating by tapping his fingers against the back window frame.

Sam - now ready to resolve this - got out of the car, an air of annoyance and determination complete with his swift movements.

"Sam, where are you going?" Annie was the only one that was 'brave enough' to speak up, to try and pry the Detective Inspector away from his sticky, quick sand like thoughts.

He glanced back at her. "You all wait here - I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

He stepped over an array of different sized plant pots in an attempt not to knock them over, as he made his way over to the house. Many of them he was sure were not there the day before. They all had the same swirled rose pattern, in reds and blues, on a clay brown background.

Tapping unsurely on the door, in all bluntness, Sam Tyler had no idea what he was about to do next. He had no idea what to say, how to react, nothing. Yet, in the loneliest corner of his brain, he could just hear Gene Hunt yelling at him.

_"Go with your gut - not your bonce!"_

Sam shook away those thoughts; there was no denying that DCI Hunt had had a profound impact on the way he viewed policing. Possibly for the better?

The door creaked open, only slightly. "Yeah? Oh, DI Tyler. I-Is everything all right?"

Mike Smith's voice was distinctively different from yesterday. Where as he sounded timid and unbalanced, today he sounded far more fatigued and a lot more suspicious, at least in Sam's mind. The copper wasn't too sure whether this was from his own admission or whether it was just the Gov's sense of twisted logic finally winning the grapple with his own head.

"Hi, Mr. Smith, can I come in and have a word for a minute?"

Mike's eyes darted, startled. "Uh, I'm actually about to jump in the bath for a quick wash and am a little bit, ummm, naked. Can we speak, ya know, later or just right here?"

Sam, using his better judgement (and the fact that, in a perverse twist of fate, he trusted this 'uncle') decided to go along with it. "Ok, well, I just wanted to know if you'd heard anything from your wife, Jillian, yet?"

"No."

The bluntness of Mike Smith's answer made Sam slightly uncomfortable; how was he honestly meant to reply to that?

"Have you heard anything?"

Sam looked to his shoes. "Nope. There has been another female death, though."

"Oh." Mike couldn't maintain eye contact with the other man.

"Aislin's not in hospital anymore. You do know that, right?"

Mr. Smith's restlessness agreed so. "Yeah, well, uh, I'd better be going."

With that, the door had been slammed swiftly in the DI's face. He blinked, as if a bright, dazzling light had been flickered to his pupils for just a few seconds. He groaned privately, taking a hesitant and unsteady stroll back to the car.

Tyler got in, keeping his head down, slouching in his chair; even to his stubborn mind set, he knew that he'd just screwed up there. Unfortunately - for him - he wasn't the only one to notice either.

"Great goin' Sherlock." Ray blurted out without any vacillation. He grunted; you could just hear the venom scraping against the back of his throat.

"Ok, ok, I didn't handle that particularly well."

Sam's acknowledgement of his mistakes shocked no one except for Carling; Annie was becoming more and more aware of Sam's humble tendencies and slight insecurities of his own abilities even though - for the most part - they were completely unnecessary. Chris knew Sam a lot better than most people in 1973 and, even though at times he felt his challenges of Gene Hunt's authority did deserve some amount of questioning, he knew that - as a copper - Sam was possibly the finest he'd ever come across; someone that wouldn't make mistakes for the sake of it or just to fit someone up.

"Tosser."

Ray's muttered, bitchy outburst broke Sam from his cocoon of day dreaming. "I suggest, Detective Sergeant Carling, that if you don't wish suspension or to be de-promoted, you keep your gob shut, ok?"

"'Ang on a sec, that's the Gov's decision, not yours..."

"Yes but, like we were _meant_ to have established earlier, I **am** your boss at the moment so you'd better do as I say. Got it?"

For the rest of the journey back to the A Division Departments, Ray Carling never uttered another word. As fun as it was to push Sam to the very limits, he knew he'd be doing himself no favours at that time by doing so.

This, to everyone in the car, seemed to be a rare attack of Ray doing the most sensible thing possible.

Pacing and leaping up the steps, Carling was far detached from the conversation that Sam, Chris and Annie had on the way back to the offices. They all spied him up and down, tisking in their own unique way at his actions.

However, Chris - in his new enquiring state of mind - wanted answers from his Boss. "So, do you not have _any_ idea when the Gov's gonna get back?"

Sam sighed, shrugging swiftly. "Your guess is as good as mine."

His honesty struck a chord with DC Skelton; Sam Tyler, even though weird, would always try and be as up front as possible with them when a crisis loomed.

This could easily be one of those situations.

Sam, for the rest of the day, decided to hold himself hostage in the Gov's office, pouring himself a small swig of Whisky. Unbeknownst to the DCI, Tyler knew exactly where he kept his drink of choice and would be more than likely horrified if that fact was ever revealed. Sam, hunched over the desk, was starting to feel the effect of mixing antibiotics and alcohol; his stomach was bubbling violently like a witch's caldron, hissing at his own blatant stupidity. He moaned, his sweaty palms coursing across the aching abs for some means of comfort; clearly the past few days were taking a toll on him. In fact, this whole muder situation was made a little worse by the Gov not being there.

If the Gene Genie had been there, maybe - just maybe - Ray may have been more willing to get on his job than snipe at his boss constantly. Maybe someone like Gene Hunt was needed on hand to put his balls on the line, to make snap decisions and - most importantly - to keep everyone in order.

Clearly, Sam's best attempts at calming his nerved tummy wasn't working too well when Annie made her way into the Chief Detective's office to find him in such a state. She took one glance at the bottle, only a quarter full of orange liquor and rolled her eyes lightly. She was certain he hadn't drank as much as that but still tisked at him.

"That was bright, wasn't it, mixing Whisky and pink pills, hum?"

With her arms folded across her chest in a disapproving manner, her voice serious and scolding, it reminded Sam a lot of his Mother's attitude when in the playground he would get blooded and bruised in a scuffle, usually with reference to how one Vic Tyler was 'nothing but scum'. Those occasions were very rare but still an occurrence. That hit a nerve with Sam, hard, like the Gov's fist in the stomach.

The Detective Inspector peeped at his watch; it was ten minutes to midnight. All of the late nights and mishaps recently were starting to wreck his body. A hand dawdled across his forehead; he was already beginning to feel woozy.

"Come on, it's late, I'll drive you home." Annie decided without hesitation, tossing the keys into the air, smiling seductively at her boyfriend in a demanding yet caring manner.

How could he refuse after an offer like that?

* * *

Next time in 'Blimey, it's a baby!'...

Sam and Annie get a little closer but will things stay that way for the young couple?

Check back for more, soon!

* * *

Hey, I'd just like to thank JudasFM, losttimelady and Iaveina for reviewing the last chapter and thank you to anyone who read it. I like hearing what you have to say and, if you have any problems with the story, I don't know what they are unless you tell me. Although I may not like eating humble pie (lets face it, who does?) if there is a way the story could be improved and be more enjoyable for you to read, please let me know. I don't know unless you tell me!

Thank you for reading - please review!


	12. Chapter 12: What if it means something?

The quiet drive back to the dingy and unappealing flat of the Detective Inspector was strangely secluded, despite the dark and usual night time angst on the streets of Manchester. Annie Cartwright and Sam Tyler, however, were at the stage in their relationship where silence did not bother them entirely, in fact, they were glad of it sometimes; they were so comfortable with each other, the idea that neither of them speaking being a bad thing didn't cross their minds.

In fact, it was probably for the best at times; Annie knew for the vast majority of the evening, Sam would let the days events play too actively on his mind. He would sit there, pen and paper in hand, scanning through his notes, jotting any random words down amongst the scribbles to make the job even remotely easier for the next day. She would stand there and watch, doing her best to pull him away from his duties as one of the city's best coppers. Sometimes, they both had problems distancing themselves from work and their own private lives.

Yet, it was something they were both more than confident that they could work on - together.

Pulling up, Annie gazed over at her slouched sweetheart. She stroked her scalp with the tip of her index finger in slight anxiousness, waiting for him to place his eyes on her. Her smile, light and flimsy, she eased a little when his fatigued and drowsy vision locked onto her. He sat up, noticing the distant frown on her rosy lips.

He peeked at her hands, rattling against the plastic steering wheel.

"Uh, do you want to come in?"

He looked over to the shamble of a building, with it's boarded up windows and dodgy brickwork, before returning his attentions to her. Sam had to admit that he would probably think twice before wanting to step in there.

She sighed, almost relieved that she'd been invited in, despite the unromantic proposal and their own misgivings; one of them reluctantly scared, now becoming prone to bouts of unease. The other with stomach pains like a rough sea.

Yet, it was still an offer with the best of intentions at heart.

They made their way up the dozens of stairs, warmly yet tensely arm in arm; Annie protecting Sam from himself, making sure he didn't fall over. Shading Sam from hurting himself all over again, cracking another bone in his body. Sam protected Annie from her own timid and abstract imagination by holding her even closer to himself.

As the door creaked slowly open, DC Cartwright was shocked to find the TV, Radio and lights still on; Sam must have been away from his apartment for fifteen hours at least without switching any of them off.

Then, she remembered that they were _all_ turned off when they left, together, minutes after baby Aislin had been collected. Aislin been carted off to another place to be looked after, information that was 'disclosed' at that moment in time to everyone, except for the family. Annie had noticed Sam snort at that statement but decided not to venture too far into that case; she already had too much on her mind.

She shivered, wrapping her arms around her upper body, pleading herself to push the spooky thoughts away briskly; she didn't want to know _why_ the appliances were not switched off. She felt it was her duty to inspect the flat properly, making sure all of the windows were shut, the door bolted locked and everything that needed to be turned off was so before she could settle with Sam, at least for a little while.

Sam trailed behind her, collapsing onto the bed once he'd finally made his presence felt back in his home. Sprawling out across the length rather than from the head to the foot of the bed, his wailing soon attracted the attention of a naturally beautiful and caring woman. His disturbed stomach and broken ribs were certainly playing him up more than he cared to admit; he didn't want her to worry to much about his condition. It was meant to be him reassuring her.

She leant over, her ample breasts only barely covered by the cotton fabric of her dark grey waistcoat, lighter pinstripes giving her a very professional appearance. Her hand caressed his broken ribs, massaging his chest ever so gently; Sam withered, feeling the warmth of her fingertip's touch him even more, the room quiet in spite of the gradual moans and deep breathing; he enjoyed every minute of her attention and rightfully so.

"Do you want anything getting?"

Her innocent question was enough for Sam to realise that maybe, just maybe, she wanted to stay longer than expected. Longer than just making sure he made it up to his flat in one piece. Longer than making sure he could settle down enough for a good nights sleep.

Perhaps even longer than that?

He sat up minorly, exhaling brashly; his eyes still dopey but able to carefully examine his lover's face. "No, I'd better not, thanks. You can get yourself whatever you want, though. There's a half bottle of red wine, if you're interested?"

She bent down, gently kissing his poorly stomach, her smile thin, un-expectantly hesitant, patting his hand as she trudged over to the small kitchen of her boyfriends.

Sam, shifting his weight with any last amount of effort he could muster, moved over as far as possible to the top of the bed, wanting nothing more than his girlfriend to lay next to him; so close, their bodies barely centimetres apart. So close they could share each others body heat and feel each other's breath tingle against their skin.

Annie, taking Sam's advice, managed to complete her successful search for the wine bottle, plodding atypically back over to the bed, doing exactly as Sam hoped she would; lying next to him, softly resting her head on his now rolled forward shoulder. She took slow yet regular sips of the wine, the subterranean, hearty blackcurrant taste lingering in her mouth cosily.

He beamed down to her, like the suns rays on a carnation. She mimicked his actions, in less of a secure fashion, as if something was stopping her. He wrapped his arm around her body, offering a tender kiss to her blushed cheek. She smirked delicately, snuggling up closer to him; she just wanted to feel close to him, to smell his scent so near to her, even if she drowned in it.

DI Tyler rolled as carefully as he could onto his left side, trying not to disrupt his stomach's now semi-settled form. Rubbing a hand over Annie's divinely natural curves, he felt her move in perfect rhythm with his palms, sinking deeper into her partners bed and spiritual comfort.

"What's up?"

Sam's deliberate and quick question made Annie jerk; she had hoped that he'd not noticed her seemingly anxious body language, her borderline frightened expressions and strained speech.

Unfortunately for her, he had. Very much so.

"N-nothing, why?"

Sam rested his heavy head against a bent hand, resting his main body weight on one elbow. "I dunno, you just haven't seemed yourself, that's all, since we got back to the station earlier."

Although Annie paused, pleading for a split second that the ground would open up and swallow her whole, she knew in her heart of hearts that if she didn't confess to Sam her real worries, her real thoughts, that he would either pry and pry until she told him what was up or that he'd guess. In fact, he'd guess rather accurately. And, to be truthful, that was one of the things Miss. Cartwright adored most about her darling; he was so patient, so calm, always trying to understand the fairer sex better, even though he did a pretty good job of understanding them already.

She exhaled obscurely, her lips pursed. "I don't know...it's just this case, you know, the murder inquiries, it makes me wonder what the world's coming to."

Sam sat up, tittering on the inside at his lady's last comment. _'If only she knew.'_

"And now with the Gov goin' missing, it's creeping me out."

She trembled at her own thoughts, rubbing her arm nervously as her imagination ran wild like a cheetah. Sam returned to her side, stroking her face tenderly, caressing from her temple, along the apple of her cheek and down to the pit of her jaw line. Her eyes became drowsier, his considerate nature and her own alcohol intake sending her into a placid trance.

His head impelled closer to hers, his voice light and serene. "Stay the night with me, Annie."

Without making herself look desperate, she considered his words for a moment, blinking to him. As strong as she was, she was learning with him that it was ok to admit that you have weaknesses, that sometimes it's nice to just be shielded. "Ok. I will."

Proud that his private conquest had been complete, Sam laid a soft kiss on Annie's mouth, their lips brushing enduringly yet gradually against one another.

Their breathing became steadier, their eyes flickering shut as they fell asleep in each others arms, neither considering letting go. Not for one minute.

* * *

_The crawl was becoming harder; he was on bended knees, his back killing him, his stomach arched painfully against his bandages, the dark consuming him. He had no idea where he was. All he knew was, he was confused._

_"Gene Hunt is in trouble."_

_The announcement echoed in his ears; he didn't have room to look around to see where it was coming from. Powerless, yet again. But, he was no longer in the tunnel; the scene had snapped into a different time zone, the white light absorbing his frame._

_"W-who are you?"_

_He stepped forward, the dark holding all secrets. Nothing was clear. He could only make out the other man's vaguely familiar voice in the distance._

_"Sam, you don't forget me. You'll __**never **__forget me."_

_"Forget who? I-I don't understand."_

_"We've met before Sam, many a time. You know we have. I'm the answer. To everything."_

_He chocked back a stifled answer. "Pretty broad statement, don't you think?"_

_"Maybe. Possibly not. You've found the killer."_

_He thumped his head, a blatantly bad attempt at knocking sense into himself, trying to rekindle memories from the past, present and future, trying so hard not to forget..._

_The voice, he knew. He was certain of that. He just couldn't uncover it, make it clearer, against the reverberation of the white noise, the screeching car tyres, females tortured cries, gun shots._

_He __**knew**__ the voice...He __**knew**__ the voice...He __**knew**__ the voice..._

Sam awoke, suddenly, bold upright in his bed, his clothes stuck to him; the icy cold sweat clamping the fibres to his frame. He panted, perplexed.

"What the hell does all that mean?" his voice was low, inaudible and shaky; he was tired of all of the insanity surrounding his place in the world.

Rubbing away sleep from his hazel eyes, Sam blinked hard, feeling the skin crease together. He couldn't tell what time of day it was; the thick curtains were drawn too near together to see the full brightness of the sky, a product of his lovers secretive nature from the previous night. He knew it must have been early though; Annie was never late up as she wanted to be at the station bright and early, proving her worth to the rest of the CDI.

His neck clicked, pointing his head over to the clock. It read 5.34am. In Sam's mind, the digital, neon green glow told him that it was too early to get up yet too late to go back to sleep. A very awkward time of the day indeed.

He groaned passively, crumbling back down to the covers and lumpy mattress. He inhaled, his hand trailing over his forehead; where the bloody hell had that crazy dream come from?

Trying to force all of that out of his mind, at least for a while, his eyes fell on a sleeping Annie. Laying beside him in a tight ball, her breathing comforted him, made him feel relaxed in a overwrought world. He smooched her on the temple before stumbling over to his bathroom; he knew a lukewarm shower was just the thing he needed at this moment in time, to make him alert and able to take whatever the world had to throw at him that day.

Removing his sticky clothing, Sam squirmed, more than ready to freshen himself up. He stood in the shower, feeling the warm droplets of water tumble across his pale skin, falling freely from his head, slipping down his back, right down to his toes. He was beginning to feel better already, the soap lathering against his skin, making him feel rejuvenated.

Yet, he still could not get that dream out of his mind; in the pit of his stomach, he knew it was some kind of premonition, like the ones he had before. He scrubbed at his face, the traces of blonde stubble pricking his fingers. He hated getting soap in his eyes but just wanted to stop the images, the flashbacks, the awful scenes he still wasn't accustomed to.

What if it all meant something?

The trouble was, he didn't really know why it had troubled him in the way that it did. Except for the voice that irked him. The voice that he knew that he'd heard before. The voice he _did_ recognise. Yet, there was just something about the words; they related to the previous day. Him and Annie had contemplated - only briefly - the idea that Gene Hunt had gone missing, that he was in some sort of trouble. But he just couldn't see in his mind's eye the Gov in danger.

Something just didn't fit.

Then there was the matter of the statement _'I hold the answer, to everything.'_

What did the person mean? Did he know the answer of the female murders? Why Sam forced himself to throw himself back into life of 1973 Manchester? Or, even, where the Detective Chief Inspector was?

All of this was just too confusing before six o'clock in the morning; nothing was able to at least partially register with Sam before seven. He shaved quickly, still distracted with the nightmare he'd encountered. He barely noticed the tiny formation of crimson patches dotted over his cheeks and chin. To be truthful, he didn't really care.

He was just too damn preoccupied with that dream.

Annie awoke to the sound of clattering in the bathroom; running water and metal razors colliding with jittery hands, she massaged her eyes, trying to wake herself up. She'd slept really well, considering her frame of mind before her lengthily slumber. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, graced with a familiar face who came tumbling out of the bathroom. Their eyes united, warming to each other's glances.

They didn't even need to say good morning; they just giggled openly, embracing each other.

"Is it ok if I use your shower?" Annie politely questioned, enjoying the fragrance of pure soap of aftershave that clung affectionately to her lover's body.

"Yeah sure. I'll grab you some clean towels." Sam smiled, their lips clung for only a split second before they went their separate ways, Tyler tossing her a couple of ivory body towels whilst vowing to make her breakfast.

She scoffed demurely, her head bowing a little; she was a little embarrassed that a guy was doting on her. It was so...so unexpected, nothing like how things had been in her previous relationships. The men simply expected women to do that sort of thing, to be the one to do the domestic chores.

Yet Sam wasn't like any other man she'd ever known before.

She smiled bashfully, her hand twisting the door handle as she flipped her hair over her shoulders in a quietly seductive manner; she really did have him wrapped around her little finger.

Sam knew it too. Yet he didn't actually care; he loved making her happy, maybe a smidgen more than she possibly knew. He finally felt at peace in a relationship where he knew the feeling was mutual; they both adored each other's time and respected each other as equals, rather than it being a one sided, male dominated relationship like he felt she was used to in 1970's Britain.

Cracking an egg into a mixing bowl, Sam hummed casually to himself. He was a dab hand in the kitchen and, with his twenty-first century attitude to cooking and food, he wanted to make sure that his and Annie's diet was as healthy as possible so they could catch robbers in Manchester quicker than the rest of CID combined! He was determined to make sure that she was able to prove herself effectively too, with only a small piece of his guidance, of course.

Shortly, Miss. Cartwright made her way from the bathroom, rubbing her inadvertently damp hair with the smaller hand towel also present in the pokey bathroom. She sniffed, her eyes widening at the deliciously sweet smell filling the entire area of Sam's flat.

"Something smells good!" she beamed, wrapping her arms loosely but still with emotion around Sammy's injured abdomen.

He turned, pecking her on the nose as he dished up their breakfast. "They are low fat honey crepes." he enthused, plonking the plates down on the rickety table.

"Low fat?" Annie gasped, Sam not realising that could cause offence.

"Trust me, they're yummy!"

"Yummy?" Annie chortled, digging in against the lashings of syrupy goodness to the moist mass.

"Yeah, yummy. The first word that came into my head." Sam flushed, realising how much like a two year old he'd just sounded.

For the most part, they ate their breakfast in silence, both enjoying their meal but also contemplating the day ahead. To be truthful, Sam didn't want to tell Annie all about the bizarre dream he'd just encountered; he'd promised her no more 'funny stuff' was going to come out of his mouth, since his 'return' to 1973.

But surely he couldn't just ignore this strange, sort of premonition - could he?

"Is it alright if I go and get changed, you know, before we go into the office?" Annie questioned civilly, clearing the plates into the sink as Sam gulped down a couple of pink pills and chilled milk.

"Sure." he nodded, grabbing his leather jacket and passing Annie her brown bag in his usual, gentleman like fashion. Annie glanced around just before they left the apartment, wanting to make sure all of her boyfriend's wacky and - for the most part - broken appliances were switched off. She quivered slightly, watching him lock the door behind him.

The drive back to Annie's was faintly five minutes long, their home's quite nearly in spitting distance of each other. Sam - his stomach recovered enough so he didn't have to double over in agony every thirty seconds - drove back to her house. They talked a little about advancing the case, neither of them going into it in too much detail for the time being; it could wait until they got to the station.

They both looked over at the block of flats in which Annie lived; they were much nicer than Sam's home, but not by far, partly because they were newer; the brickwork was far less shoddy.

"Right, I'll be back in five minutes, tops." Annie claimed, striding over to the concrete steps.

"Because it's you, make it ten!" Sam teased, yelling out of the passenger side of the vehicle as he watched her make her way into the off-yellow bricked building.

Then, the world became black.

To be continued...

* * *

Hi everyone, hope you're all doing well! Once again, thank you to everyone who read the last chapter, especially JudasFm, Iaveina, losttimelady, xX-Silver-and-cold-Xx and Emmylou for taking the time to review! Hope you guys all enjoyed this update!

Thank you and please review!


	13. Chapter 13: Where are you?

Dawdling inside her house, the radio turned right up mainly for comfort, Annie danced around amongst the heaps of tops and piles of trousers, clothes flying everywhere; she was really struggling to find a clean outfit for the day ahead. The problem was, the A Division had all been working such long hours over the past week, working over time for any shred of hope in finding the killers in the city, she'd been finding it near enough impossible to get the washing and ironing done; by the time she'd gotten back most nights, she'd just wanted to get straight to bed, hoping to push the day's events out of her fragile head.

Finally finding something respectable yet cool, Annie bundled all of the trousers, skirts, shirts and waistcoats back onto hangers or semi neatly folded up back into drawers; She was glad now that Sam had said ten minutes for her to get ready as opposed to five.

She glanced at her watch, her eyes widening in shock. "Shit! We can't be any later!" The both of them now had precisely seven and a half minutes to get to CID before being officially classed as late which would not look good for either of them.

She scampered down the stairs, doing her best not to trip and fall in her rather clunky, heavy Cuban heels (perhaps not the most practical form of footwear, Annie later realised); that was all the department needed, another casualty.

In her unarguable haste, trying her best to juggle a handbag and hefty coat whilst re-arranging her hair that was being bashed about by the winds, her eyes were out of focus with the copper's car.

Until she got a little closer.

She squinted, the dazzling morning light distracting her somewhat. She could just make out glass and clay shattered along the road, dashes of blood everywhere. And - more importantly - the motor missing it's driver.

"Sam?" she called out, getting closer to the car. There was no sign of him there, everything belonging to him gone. "Sam?" she cried once again, spinning, scanning the surrounding area. "SAM?" she yelped, darting up and down the street. There was no trace of him what so ever.

She paced sharply, her breath wheezing in a dangerous brew of shock and panic; what the heck had happened? Why the hell was the car all beaten up? Where the fuck was Sam?

"SAM?!" Annie shrieked, her bottom lip quivering in horror, she didn't know how to handle this situation. At least not entirely on her own. Realising how utterly stupid it would be of her to walk around for ages, praying that maybe, just maybe, he'd come back alright, able to explain to her exactly what had just happened, she jumped into the car, speeding down the road like lightening; she had no time to waste.

Nearly knocking over so many pensioners and little kids that the DCI would be proud, Annie swerved, the journey coming to an abrupt end. As she was driving, she'd done her best in solitude to look out for him. Nothing. She just anticipated that she'd wonder into CID, fiercely over reacting and that - for what ever reason - he'd be there waiting to greet her with open arms.

"SAM? DI TYLER?"

"Ay, ay, steady on, luv!" another female voice entered the atmosphere, her tone harsh, commanding yet with actually no sense of authority within the place; just a big gob, as one member of the team had chosen to put it once.

"Phyllis, has Sa- DI Tyler been in?" Annie spoke, correcting her slack turn of phrase as he hands rattled against each other, her eyes welling up.

"No, I assumed he was with you - five minutes bloomin' late! Why? What's happened?"

DC Cartwright stuttered, barely comprehending the words lingering in her mouth. "He's...he's gone."

- - - - - - - - - -

_The white light became brighter, more oppressive, his sense of sight knocked for six. He used his hand, a desperate attempt to block the blinding rays away from him. _

_"Wh-what's going on?"_

_"I told you before Sam - I am your answer."_

_"Who? Who are you?"_

_He cackled, his voice winding on like a cassette player, stuck in time. "You know who I am! The quicker we get this over with, the quicker you can resolve the case once and for all."_

_His eyes shifted, still blinded. "Case? What, about the women who've been murdered?"_

_"Arh, that would be telling, huh?"_

_He panicked, startled. "Who the bloody hell __**are**__ you? What do you want with **me**?!"_

_"Oh I think you know exactly what, Sam..."_

"Sam? DOROTHY! Oi, bloody Tyler, do you want another pair of ribs breaking and all?"

The voice that greeted him was blunt, impatient and agitated. Sam Tyler awoke from his criminally induced sleep, feeling a heavy, tall form tower over him. His eyes flickered, stumbling open after a few moments of trying. The light was darker, a lot darker than in the 'dream', certainly more appealing than an overbearing white light colliding directly with his pupils.

He groaned groggily, his head pounding. What the bloody hell had happened? Where was he? Who was he with?

He knew the answer to the latter question. For a few minutes, he chose to blatantly ignore the imperiously loud voice, his back lying flatly against the cold, untilled or carpeted ground. He closed his eyes for a minute, wanting this to just be another figment of his imagination and to wake up in the arms of Annie, safe and sound.

Alas, it certainly wasn't going to be like that.

Suddenly, he felt an empty cigarette packet fly past him, tapping him on his rounded nose. He screwed his face up, slinging the cardboard back into the direction it came from. He took a moment to twist his neck round, to get a better look of his room buddy. Really, he knew who it was already.

"Gov?" he gasped, clutching the back of his head, sitting up gingerly. "What the bloody hell's going on?"

Gene, by this time, body propped against the wall, one elbow leaning on a bent knee as a cigarette dangled from his mouth. He took a deep, deep drag, exhaling gradually, as if he wasn't entirely sure how to approach the situation. "I don't really know, Sammy Boy." he replied, all of a sudden very downcast.

Sam sat up, slouching himself opposite to Gene against the other side of the wall. His head felt damp, his finger tips stained with tipples of blood, at least what he expected to be that of the crimson liquid. His arms felt scratched and a little bloody too.He wasn't entirely sure what had happened either; he just remembered sitting in the car, waiting for Annie, and then it all went black.

"Shit." he muttered, his head collapsing in between his knees. "Annie."

"What? Was she with you when you got brought 'ere?"

Sam's un-tempted nod and solemn expression brought Gene closer to another fag. This was insane.

"How did you get here?" the Detective Inspector questioned, still in the right frame of mind to be out on the job rather than cooped up in a stuffy room with one Gene Hunt.

"The same way they did you. I left your flat when we came back from the 'ospital and they were outside, waiting. Well, one of them was. The other one jumped me from behind, 'it me in the back of the 'ead." he pouted sadly.

Gene's sulking was certainly nothing new to the vast majority of CID, especially not to his DI. Yet, it was just the way he spoke this time; like he had truly been robbed of pride, defeated in such a backhanded way. That pissed him off. Big time.

"Gov, did you see who did it?"

"Oh, too right, I know the two fuckers who did this."

Sam paused. "Who?"

Without further ado, one of the two men walked in, larger than life, like the cat who'd got the double cream.

- - - - - - - - - -

Walking nervously into CID as if it was her first day there again, Annie dabbed at her eyes with a square of tissue paper, Phyllis rubbing her back and shoulders reassuringly. As soon as she got into the room, many crowded around her, wanting to know exactly what had happened.

Being surprisingly sensitive and over protective, Chris demanded that everyone backed off, receiving a chorus of 'OOOOHHS!' for his trouble. She sat down, coiling her bag strap around her fingers as she stared at the floor, shell shocked.

"Are you alright, Annie?" Chris pestered kindly, standing beside Phyllis as Ray perched on the end of her desk.

She shook her head, Phyllis making it her duty to explain on her behalf what was going on. "Annie went home to get changed after spending the night at her boyfriend's house and when she got back to the car DI Tyler was in, he was gone."

"Did anything look, or seem, suspicious?" DC Skelton inquired, grabbing a pen and paper from his desk in front of Annie's.

"I-I...I don't know what happened. I was in me flat for about fifteen minutes, getting sorted out like, and when I got back to the car, there was broken glass and everything everywhere! Sa- DI Tyler was gone."

As she began to sob more freely, Chris offered a comforting, disciplined look; nothing too moody, enough to offer support.

DS Carling on the other hand continued to puff away at his cigarette like a chimney top, shaking his head. "Plonks." he mumbled inconsiderately, Chris shooting daggers; it certainly wasn't Annie's fault that all of this had transpired. He wanted nothing to do with the accusations from those who claimed her responsible for all of this.

Slight sniffles accompanied DC Cartwright's next thoughts, breaking away a little from Phyllis' unusually patient grasps. "Wh-who's in charge now?"

Practically the whole station turned to face an unsuspecting Ray. He nearly shot out of his skin. "ME? I don't wanna be the next bugger to go missing!"

"Pity." Chris scowled openly, re-reading his notes as if they were from DI Tyler's own personal collection.

"God 'elp us!" Phyllis moaned, slapping her forehead with her available hand.

Everyone's, except for one man's, eyes were focused on the present Detective Sergeant. He continued to concentrate on the ground below him, jiggling his tie around as if it held the key's to all of his problems.

It seemed as if a light bulb just went off over Chris' head. "Annie, was there anything else at the crime scene other than the broken glass?"

Annie contemplated that inquiry for just a split second, her face wrinkling a little. "Yeah - like clay, broken plant pots."

She need not say anymore; Chris and Annie's minds were in perfect sync with each other. They raced out of the door quicker than Red Rum, leaving Ray to saunter after them, looking as dopily perplexed as ever.

- - - - - - - - - -

"Arh, Sam, we meet again."

That voice. It was so similar to the one in his twisted dreams.

The darkness of the room prevented him from spying the man fully; there were no light sources. No windows. No means of escape.

The lanky, bald shadow of a man sauntered into the room, his hands dug deep in his suave trouser pockets; the trousers with the pretentious pale blue stripes blaring out of the navy background. Sam could only just make that out, the door swinging open a little more, light flooding the room in stages, like a steep stair case.

"Morgan." He growled, his voice still bleary.

"So glad you could join us." he chuckled mockingly; DI Tyler could just see the perversely smug grin affixed to his lips. How much he wanted to rip them off right now, watching a river of blood escape from his face.

The door slammed shut, startling both members of Manchester's A Division, as the click of a key turning in the lock became known. A bright torch shone in Sam's hazel eyes, his pupils shrivelling like a dying flower. His hand blocked the majority of the rays, his eyes tapering in intimidation as the aging DCI crept closer and closer to him.

"Wh-what do you want with us?"

Morgan stepped back a few paces, the jangling of his keys in his purple waistcoat pocket could be made out. "Oh, nothing too much, Mr. Williams."

Sam's eyes opened, barely seeing the shocked expression on the Gov's face. "Mr. Williams?"

Sam gulped; how the heck was he meant to respond to that?

"Oh dear, have we not been completely honest with our DCI, Sammy?" Morgan guffawed, glancing over his shoulder as DCI Hunt became blinded by the torch.

"Sam - what's this bastard going on about?"

Gene's voice was low, consciously jittery. By now, he was fatigued and very hungry, starved of oxygen and alcohol, only managing to take pleasure in his last few cigarettes.

Sam's eyes darted from man to man; it was his turn to have his vision stunted by the torch. His eyes pleaded to Morgan, appealing to his softer side (if he had one). Yet, the DCI from 'Hyde' was enjoying this too much for his own good. He chortled a bit more, sneaking closer to the Detective Inspector. "I'll be back soon - you'd better start talking to him." his whispers faded even further, his body leaving the air tight room, the faint tittering could still be heard.

Gene sat up a little straighter, his body language sending out signals of distaste and anger. "Yes 'Mr. William's'. You'd better bloody start talkin' - now!"

- - - - - - - - - -

DS Carling was pretending to be the Gov; it was plain for the members of the department to see. The way he loosely clung to a cigarette end, the way he made the car swerve, missing houses by inches and his proud, determined posture were all signatures of DCI Gene Hunt.

Annie, perched between two other DC's from the office felt her breathing become rigid, diminutive; she didn't want to return to the street where she lived, not ever again. Every time she would return, day after day, night after night, she would only be able to see patterns of blood, glass and clay. She spied her fidgeting hands nervously; she really needed to keep it together, for the sake of the team.

Chris, with a new burst of energy, wasted little time when the car finally came to a screeching halt; as well as wanting to be one of the leaders in solving this dastardly case, he wanted it to be the time when he proved his worth to his colleagues; everyone except for Sam and Annie considered him to be a complete div; the bloke at the back of the room who was just there for a good laugh, someone you could push around quite easily without retaliation, the class clown, almost.

Yet, DC Skelton was determined to prove everyone wrong.

Having no time to fully prepare for such an outing, he hadn't got time to grab any gloves for forensic purposes; some of the shards of glass and clay had crimson stains on them.

"Annie - can you run up to your flat and get us some kitchen roll, please?" Chris asked, squatting down near where the car had been parked previously; you could still see it's outline where the glass and clay had fallen in a rough sketch around the vehicle. It had seemed that not many people had been out either since then, possibly through fear. Either that or they were busy at work or school.

DC Cartwright hesitated, her arms shaking a little. Chris could see the pain and trauma in her eyes. Cartwright may have balls of steel but sometimes they became melted and disfigured, proving herself not to be as tough a cookie as everyone first expected.

Chris knew how much she looked up to Sam; he really was her tower of strength in the office, motivating her, showing her to be better than most males in CID. Yet everyone had their weakness'; Annie's were her warm heart and her desire for one man who she obviously cared about very much.

"Annie, luv, I really need you to do this. Be strong, for us." he pleaded, gazing up at her. He noticed that her eyes, although tearful, were narrowing, showing great might and willpower.

She nodded directly to Chris, bounding up to her flat; perhaps, if she kept moving, she'd be able to carry on, function effectively.

Perhaps even solve the case?

DS Carling on the other hand was losing his Gene Hunt like facade rather quickly; so far, he'd spent half of his time moping around the scene hopelessly, wishing silently that the Gov was there (he wouldn't admit that in a hurry nor the fact that he was cracking; he had no idea what to do. Hell, he almost wish Sam Tyler was in attendance! Almost...). The other portion of his time was spent taking unfathomably concentrated drags from his cigarette; his nerves were beginning to show, even though no one really had the guts to confront him about it. Ray could be a pretty fierce opponent when need be, as the Detective Inspector had established many a time.

Chris and another Constable were deep within conversation; there was little to no doubt in the young man's mind now who was to blame for the demise of many ladies of Manchester. The problem was going to be thinking of a suitable plan to truly catch him in the act, to make sure there were absolutely no loop holes or escape routes for the bastard to get out of this.

The surly, pretentiously hypocritical eyes of Carling sneered over at Chris; what the bloody 'ell was 'e playing at? This should be Ray's collar, not his. This should have been Carling's definitive step in proving that he deserved to be the Inspector in Manchester's A Division, not Tyler. Now, that tosser's protégé was out to ruin all of this for him - how utterly preposterous!

Ray continued to snarl openly as Annie made her way back to the scene. She ripped reams of kitchen roll off as Chris took great care in collecting all of the pieces up, placing them carefully in a carrier bag that she had brought with her.

"Ay, what do you think you're doin'?"

Chris and Annie glanced up casually; Ray's bellowing distracted them only momentarily before they both decided to carry on realising that their efforts would be beneficial to their investigation.

Ray - moving faster than many had ever seen him before - darted over to them, shoving Chris who had no time to defend himself adequately.

"What was that for?"

"Why the bloody 'ell are you - of all people - trying to show up a superior officer?"

Chris considered the question, only briefly. He stood, shrugging. "Coz at least I know the job _will_ get done - maybe not as well as the Boss or the Gov, but better than you would do it."

Ray couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You jumped up little prick!"

He was about to take a swing for Skelton. Annie - alert - put her way between them, preventing the assault as her hands wavered against their chests; their heartbeats rapid, fierce. "You guys - come on! Please, we need to stick together 'ere... We are already two good coppers down, lets not make it two more, ay?"

After a few tense moments, the anger subsided between the two. No eye contact was made, which was probably for the best; at least they weren't ripping shreds out of each other.

The team worked in silence for the rest of the time on site, making sure they dusted the area appropriately before heading back to the station.

Little did any of them know who or what was waiting for them when they got there.

* * *

Next time in 'Blimey, it's a baby!' 

Will Ray and Chris bury the hatchet in favour of fighting a much bigger enemy? Will Sam tell Gene anything about his hazy past?

To be continued...

* * *

Hey! Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Major thanks goes out to JudasFm, Emmylou, ineybeanybaby, Iaveina, losttimelady and Mindless Image for all taking the time to review Chapter 12. I'm glad to hear that you are all still enjoying the story, even at this point where it may be easy to end it any chapter (not!).

Thanks once again and, if you've been kind enough to read this time, please review!


	14. Chapter 14: Literally torn in two

The silence of the dark room was beginning to deafen Sam; the darkness consuming all logic and foresight. Moments before, Gene Hunt had demanded an answer ro one of the questions that piqued Tyler: where in the heck had the last name William's come from?

The prospect of answering that question terrified him; he had no idea how he could explain it in his own head, let alone anyone else's. Especially not to someone like the overly pig headed and even obnoxious Gene.

He felt the Gov's eyes burn a hole in him; the stub of a cigarette against naked flesh. A sea of smoke came his way, clinging to the air; a blanket of curiosity and insecurity. Although neither man could see the other clearly, they knew each other well enough to guess exactly how the other looked at such a time.

Sam was still slumped hopelessly against the wall, his face nearly hitting the floor solemnly; he just couldn't find a way out of this situation. There just didn't seem to be that light at the end of the meandering tunnel anymore. And, although he'd never describe himself as an eternal optimist, he always felt that he could fight, even struggle his way through life to get what he wanted, all in the name of perseverance.

Now, he was beginning to completely regret his life in 1973; why the hell had he ever agreed to come back?

Gene, still opposite his DI, puffed ceaselessly on the same cigarette; his only comfort in such a forlorn moment of time. And his packet was nearly empty! His head titled back, his cold vision searching for any methods of escape. Even though he'd been through plan after plan over the past few days, he was still convinced that his gut instinct would kick in at any time, freeing him and his now trapped DI from this bizarre jail.

But, for now, he was sombre, his invisible pout speaking for it's self.

Shuffling, to make himself as comfortable as you could on a rock hard, stone cold floor, Sam exhaled bleakly. "How long have we been in here?"

Gene examined that question carefully, delaying his reaction. "You rolled in 'ere about three hours ago, I expect. Me...well, you know."

Sam groaned, feeling ubberly uncomfortable; the humid atmosphere juxtaposed it's self with the Gov's ice cold speech; he could just sense what he was about to say next.

"Why did Morgan call you Mr. Williams?"

The tone Gene adapted perplexed Sam to a great degree. He didn't sound mad or exasperated; just curious. He had to admit to himself that, if he'd been in that same situation, he would expect a pretty sharp answer from his Detective Inspector upon his demand.

However, this wasn't just any old situation; he was about to bare his heart and soul to Gene Hunt, a man although fiercely loyal was notorious for not believing any old mumbo jumbo (which Tyler was convinced he'd call this) and for being very picky when was deciding who to believe in any situation.

Having said that, Gene had always been very trusting of Sam; he valued his opinion more than anyone else's in CID because he knew could rely on him (most of the time) and he had unprecedented faith in his abilities both as a copper and as a person.

Yet this question was the question of all questions for DI Tyler.

Gene recognised his DI's nerved state; starved of inspiration and faith. "Sam - please? I'll try not to get mad. I just want to know what the bloody 'ell is goin' on."

The sincerity of the Gov'ners voice made Sam jerk out of his subconscious jittery state. He felt that he could handle the whole situation a little better if Gene was more docile, willing to listen to his every word.

Now seemed like a good time to start talking.

"Gene." he paused, sighing heavily, his palm stuck to his creased forehead. "I don't know where the bloody hell to start."

"At the beginning?" he quipped rather thoughtlessly; perhaps that wasn't the right thing to say. "Sorry."

Tears pricked the young Tyler's eyes; this really was emotional overload for him. After everything that him and his Gov had been through together, he just could not take the idea of betraying him. Force feeding him a bunch of lies made him feel sick to his stomach. Yet, he didn't have the strength to tell him the truth, whatever that might be.

But he had to for his own piece of mind.

He took in a deep breath, pacing himself wisely. "It all started wh-"

The metal locked clucked open gradually. The tall, intimidating figure of a man stood in the way of the distractingly bright light, shielding both men to some degree. His arrogant chuckles collided with the quiet yet edgy atmosphere of the room. The two coppers turned to gaze at him, their looks almost completely blank.

"So, Mr. Williams. Have you told Gene here all about your...past?"

Sam peered away; this was just another one of those nightmares. He'd wake up any second now. None of this was real. It was _just_ a bad dream.

"Oh Sam, don't tell me that you don't have the, uh, _balls_ to talk anymore?"

He laughed, pretentiously, the only one to find this situation even slightly amusing. Sam began to think this was Hyde's version of torture; when Morgan had finished destroying every ounce of trust built up between himself and the Gov, every bit of honesty they'd mustered from each other, he'd leave the boss so angry, so pissed off, that he'd beat seven types of shit out of him.

He anticipated more than just broken ribs by the end of this.

"Would it be easier if I told Gene what I'm talking about?"

"It's DCI Hunt to you."

The Gov's gruff tone did nothing to distract Morgan; he was deaf to everyone except for himself; how he loved the sound of his own well spoken voice.

He ignored Gene, carrying on regardless of Tyler's cowering expression. "Oh, come on Sammy, the truth always comes out...eventually."

His fingers pinched Sam's soft skin harshly, the DI turning away briskly; he could just make out Morgan's overly smug face, his bending over like a mother patronising a young child. It made him feel sick to the stomach.

And he wasn't the only one to feel that way.

"Oi! Get your ruddy 'ands of me Inspector!" Hunt bellowed, anger welling up inside of his body; it was only him allowed to badger his officers!

The swift, nimble body glanced over his shoulder; he hated being spoken to in such a way. "What's the matter, _Gene_? You don't want to believe that this man is a lying coward?!"

Morgan flung his arms everywhere, gesticulating towards his former 'protégé' as he twisted his body right around, now staring DCI Hunt face to face.

Gene's eyes darted from Sam to Morgan, Sam to Morgan and then back again. He wanted answers, hell, he may need them at some point. He hadn't got a clue where all of this 'Mr. Williams' business had come from and, truth to be told, he probably didn't want to know.

Yet, he was too curious to leave it at that. "My DI may be a lot of things, Frank, but a lying coward he is not."

Gene's voice was crystal clear and confident; he really did have unmatched faith in the man opposite him, perhaps more than either of them knew. Until today.

"Oh, I have reason to believe otherwise." he cackled, now pacing the floor; his boots heavy, the thick rubber soles sticking to the cold concrete, his steps small but perfectly formed, angering Gene even more.

"You see, Ge-"

"DCI Hunt."

"Gene, Sam Tyler has probably forgot to mention his days _before_ Manchester's A Division, to you."

"You could say that 'Hyde' was never one of our more popular topics of conversation."

Morgan spun back round; that comment, sounding like it should come from the lips of Hunt, hadn't passed his lips; the snide, uncharacteristic sneers spluttered from Sam's mouth, managed to make the situation a lot worse than it already was.

Morgan clenched his fists so tight, his short, cropped nails dug deep into his flesh, piercing the top layer completely. He tried to keep his cool, suave facade about him. He didn't like losing his temper, throwing his weight around, balling and shouting at every opportunity. Not like a certain Gene Hunt.

He snorted graciously, his head shaking between the two men. He couldn't lose his temper; he didn't want to sink to their levels. He _couldn't_ show weakness by sinking to their levels.

He began to feel the blood trickle from his palms, heading towards his wrists. He sighed in annoyance. "You know." he began, peering at his hands. "It doesn't matter anyway - the rest of your team will be getting a rather nice surprise of their own, ever so soon."

He shrugged dramatically, striding over to the door, slamming it shut behind him. Gene and Sam didn't utter a word to each other; they simply tried to avoid any form of contact with the other.

However, Gene wanted answers and he wanted them there and then; the silence was bound to be short lived.

- - - - - - - - - -

DC Skelton was having a pretty eventful day thus far; he'd nearly been decked by his supposed superior officer, had a weird attack of brain power in the form of logic and was on his way to solving a case.

Yep, that's right; Chris - dopey, simple, thick Chris - was on his way to concluding a case that had baffled everyone in CID.

He bounded his way back into the office, bags of essential goodies in his hands; he and DC Cartwright alike already had a good idea as to who was responsible, at least for the kidnapping of Sam Tyler and even Gene Hunt. In fact, they were even sure that this latest development would lead them to something far bigger.

Peering down at the clear plastic below his fingers, he was the first one to enter the building, expecting it to be empty. He was too preoccupied with his findings to really be aware of too much more around him.

Suddenly, his body collided with another man's. He shrieked strikingly, dropping the bags onto the floor. In his current panic stricken state, his mouth gaping open, he didn't recognise the man opposite him so he continued to whimper, falling to the floor to collect his new found belongings.

The taller, strappingly thin man also dropped to his knees, bundling everything together concisely but precisely.

Chris plucked up enough courage to look the other man in the face, their blues eyes connecting.

The young Constable felt his hands shake, taking the parcels back from the other smartly clad gentleman; his slick, well ironed slate coloured suit making Skelton wonder who he was and - perhaps more importantly - just where he'd come from.

"Hi." the other man breathed, flashing his perfectly straight, Hollywood white teeth. "I'm DI Norton. Pleased to meet you."

Offering his hand, Chris' only response was to peer down in suspicion. After a few seconds of waiting, Norton dropped his hand, raising a well plucked, orderly dark brown eyebrow in quick succession.

Norton regain his posture, wiping any specks of dust; his suit was far too perfect for dust to ruin.

Chris, meanwhile, was still crouched on the floor, gazing blankly up at the Inspector. He didn't really know how to react to him; he was so...flawless. The way his eyes sparkled in the dim lights of CID to the way the wisps of blackish hair fell considerately over his forehead made Chris tingle; he was perfect.

Meanwhile, Ray and Annie returned to the office, both eyeing the other man up in confusion, Carling especially.

"Uh, who the bloody 'ell are you?"

"Hi - I'm DI Norton." he beamed, holding out his hand for Ray to avoid shaking. He repeated his actions as he had done with Chris seconds before, merely dropping his hand in premature defeat.

His twinkling, blue diamond eyes made contact with the young, pretty woman in his presence. He smiled broadly to her, watching her twitch a little. "Oh and who is _this_ gorgeous little lady?" he took her reluctant hand in his, smooching the smooth, creamy soft skin in glee.

Annie pulled away fiercely quickly, a repulsed frown forming her lips; she already didn't like him and they'd only just been introduced!

Ray, his gum trudging from top to bottom set of teeth as if it was walking in quick sand, glared freely at this DI, a cigarette dangling between his lips; in his mind, he was a very good judge of character.

And things were certainly not looking good for Norton.

Ray pulled the fag away from his mouth, swirls of smoke exhaling with every deep breath he took. He eyed Norton up and down; _'Looks like a poof to me.' _he concluded, not even giving him the benefit of the doubt.

"So, 'Norton', what the heck are you doin' in _my_ office?" the Sergeant's pompous attitude surprise no one, least of all Norton; he'd dealt with these kind of people before.

"Well, Mr - sorry, didn't catch your name?"

"DS Carling."

"Sorry, DS Carling, I'm here to take over while your superior officers are absent. I hope you don't mind too much." Norton replied, almost cattily, flashing his papers to the other man.

Ray scowled, his eyes tapering so much he could barely see the egotistical smirk obscuring Norton's mouth. To an outsider, it may seem that Inspector Norton was simply the better mannered, higher authority version of DS Carling.

But, to Ray, it seemed liked the total opposite; Norton was a wanker.

"Looks like I don't 'ave a choice, do I?"

Norton chuckled, not really understanding the fine art of sarcasm. "Well, it's perhaps for the best. Tell me, where is you DCI's office?"

Chris, still idiotically staring at Norton, pointed heedlessly to the left, directing the new DI to Gene Hunt's office.

Ray gave Chris a disgusted and dejected look; what kind of stupid poof would do that, point somebody so undeserving to the Gene Genie's office? In fact, Carling refused to stand for it.

He scorned at Norton who took large, pride strides over to Hunt's office, smoothing out his shiny, navy blue tie as he pushed the door open, cringing at the creak and the scattered files and papers across the chipped desk..

Ray followed him, slinging his cigarette down to the ground in revolt, not even caring to check if it was stubbed out properly.

"Look 'ere. There's no one who knows this department, this city, better than me, other than the Gov. Unfortunately, 'e's not 'ere at the minute, neither is that nonce, Tyler. I just want to make things perfectly clear that while you're 'ere, I want sixty percent charge of the CID, got it?"

Norton, not use to being spoken to in such a firm, unfriendly manner (or having hurried hands flashing before his face) looked to the ground, rearranging his pencils and pens in a similar fashion to someone who Carling was definitely familiar with. The Inspector glanced up, the Sergeants harsh glare still affixed. "Alright, Carling, but I just want you to know that you are not exempt from any form of punishment. If it needs to be dished out, I'll be the one serving it - cold."

The DI's voice was as calmly forceful as possible yet with an undertone of bitchiness; he wasn't about balling and shouting to get his point across. He believed that being as diplomatic as possible was the key in solving any problem.

Ray, shaking his head in vile dismay, exited the room, making sure that the door slammed shut behind him. He wasn't about to stand for this kind of shit and - judging by the look on Cartwright's face - she wasn't about to either.

He plodded his way over to where Chris was sat, seemingly still in a state of utter memorisation. Annie, perched on the edge of the desk, seemed deflated, almost passionless; Norton had annoyed her in a very seedy, undercover way.

Carling took another cigarette from the packet offering one to the tranced Chris, who - unnaturally - declined. Annie, on the other hand, desperately grabbed on, snatching Ray's lighter from his top shirt pocket; that shocked him - a lot. He couldn't count the times where he'd offered the plonk a fag and she'd declined (well, other than Sam, that is).

Cartwright was even shocked at her actions; she couldn't remember how many times Sam had drilled it into her head about not smoking; all of the health and safety hazards it caused galore.

Yet, she needed something to ease her mind and calm her nerves; her main support system wasn't there when she felt she needed him most of all.

"We need to do somethin' about that bastard in the Gov's office." Carling announced, a fresh cloud of cigarette smoke obscuring the nearby area.

Annie nodded. "Yeah. I know he's 'ere to 'elp but, I dunno, there's somethin' not quite right with 'im."

Ray rolled his eyes over at a dazed Skelton. Clicking his fingers, Chris finally joined the world of Manchester's A Division. "Oh yeah, yeah, we need to do somethin' about 'im."

"But what?" Annie questioned, a hint of desperation present.

Chris, still looking blank and Annie as equally as clueless (well, perhaps not quite that clueless!) both stared at Ray, hoping that he may have a solution to their problems.

"'Ow about we go for a drink after work and think about it then."

Annie pulled a face. "Nah, he'll probably follow us and then what?"

Two out of the three considered their options; they couldn't discuss the plan too openly because the main objective was to still solve and conclude the murder cases as well as the mysterious disappearances of DI Tyler and DCI Hunt.

Then, Annie's face lit up a little. "I know; we go round to one of our 'ouses and discuss it there."

"Who's 'ouse is it gonna be?" Skelton quizzed shocked at the look he received from his mates. "Oh no! Why mine?"

"Coz my place is a tip." Ray declared, rather openly and abrupt.

"And if you both come round to my 'ouse, you'll probably spend most of the night searching for me knickers, knowing what you two perverts are like!"

Although Annie was joking now, would she be doing so for much longer?

To be continued...

* * *

Hiya! Thank you once again to JudasFm, Mindless Image, Iaveina and losttimelady who took the time to review chapter 13. I hope that everyone who reads this likes this chapter and would be kind enough to take the time to let me know what you think about it. 


	15. Chapter 15: The past will catch you

After another stressful few hours dashing here, there and everywhere inside CID, Annie was more than ready to go to the Railway Arms for a quiet drink. Or to meet up with a few of her gal pals for a little while before heading home for a good nights sleep.

Alas, she knew that was about the last thing to happen tonight.

Her and Ray were heading over to Chris' to try and come up with a decent plan to nail the bastard commonly known as Mike Smith; they were now more than sure it was him and only him responsible for everything from the numerous murders in the city to the disappearances of Gene Hunt and Sam Tyler.

Strolling over to one of the more unnoticeable police cars (in other words, a car no one would expect a bunch of coppers to be travelling in - a rather cute light green MK II Mini) Annie sighed, pulling her short strands of brunette hair away from her eyes; she was exhausted and anxious for the most part, not to mention really glad that the hellish day was over. Instead of getting an over abundance of work done, she spent most of her time trying to avoid DI Norton who had taken a shine to her in a very big way.

He'd spent most of his day suavely walking over to her, circling her, getting rather too close for comfort so she could feel his rather minty breath on the back of her neck. It was true that he was quite a nice looking guy; he had high cheek bones with dark hair that laid across them ever so slightly and charming eyes but he was one of these men who were aware of their good looks, resulting in a very arrogant and conceited man.

And that was certainly _not_ what Annie Cartwright liked in a gentleman.

In fact, that was the reason why she'd fallen for Sam; he was perfectly middle of the road. Well, not in as many roads. He was mysterious (sometimes too much so) but always respected her like an equal not like a 'dozy plonk'.

It was very hard to come across someone like Sam - someone who wasn't either a total egomaniacal jerk or, on the other hand, someone who thought women were not capable of the same kind of thought as men.

Then again, by the time she got to the car, she was rather glad that she may not be considered to be capable of the same kind of thinking as Ray. Even Chris who had returned to his usual, dopey state.

"Give me the keys 'ere, div!"

"No, Ray, my 'ouse we're goin' to - I should drive!"

"Ow'd you work that out, you plonker?"

"Coz you don't even know where me 'ouse is!"

Sheepishly, Ray dropped the motor keys into Chris' open palm, rolling his eyes in indignation. Chris, once sure that Ray wouldn't notice, beamed triumphantly over to Annie who sat on the backseat, the DS sitting up front with the winner of the last petty bout.

There were a few moments of silence. Ray, although bruised with defeat, spoke up. "You'd better 'ave some cold beer at your 'ouse!"

Chris, taking a smooth turn, nodded. "Yeah, I think I have a couple of cans of Party Seven at least."

"Great." DC Cartwright mumbled charmlessly; she could just see this turning into a 'lads night in' as such.

Just what she wanted.

- - - - - - - - - -

"So, we're just gonna sit 'ere, for the rest of our lives without sayin' a word?"

Gene Hunt's voice pierced through the atmosphere as he exhaled another large gasp of smoke. His head was resting uncomfortably against the cool plastered wall, still throbbing from the attack. Where as he was patience with Sam, giving him time to explain exactly what that scum Morgan had meant by the last name of Williams, his patience was wearing thin. Fast.

DI Tyler lifted his head from his knees, tipping his gaze to one side. What exactly had Gene meant by 'rest of our lives'? Did he honestly think they were going to die in there?

Sam refused to believe that the Gov - of all people - would consider this to be the end; they'd been in tighter spots before. This _shouldn't_ be the end.

It _couldn't_ be the end. There were so many things left unsaid, so many things not done. Trivial little things like decorating the flat, making it seem more like home. Giving Annie one last kiss...

_Beep. Beep. Beep_

_"Doctor, is there any chance that my boy will wake up?"_

_"I don't know I'm afraid, Mrs. Tyler. He keeps fighting yet it never amounts to anything. Maybe you ought to consider..."_

"No!" Sam clawed away from his mind tricks; he didn't want to hear it. His Mother wouldn't ever give up on him, he knew that. Yet, he didn't know if his life in 2006 had ever been real; maybe this was him finally snapping? Perhaps the pressure had gotten too unbearable?

"Well, Tyler, I'd really appreciate it if you started bloody talkin' before I came over there and _made_ you talk!"

Gene's tone, harsh and clear, made Sam jump a little; under the circumstances, the Governor had managed to stay pretty calm. However, he knew there was only so much a man could take.

"You wanna know about Hyde so bloody badly, huh? You wanna know what that place was meant to be like?" Sam's voice was hushed yet stubborn. He was starting to get as angry as the Gov; maybe he was in more of a mood to fight that he'd first expected?

"What do you mean 'meant'? You flamin' well lived there!"

"Only by myth."

The last riddled statement that the Inspector had dealt his superior officer confused the latter greatly. He hadn't heard the word myth in years (decades if he was being truthful). He'd often hear his teachers babble on about Greek Mythology before setting a ridiculous amount of reading homework to do for the next lesson.

But, because Gene Hunt 'didn't do' reading, he didn't do the homework. Simple.

"What d'ya mean by that?" DCI Hunt was perplexed and rightly so.

Sam exhaled, shaking his head in annoyance. How had it ever come to this? "I...I don't remember a single thing about Hyde."

"What? Not at all?"

"Nope."

Gene shifted his weight, sitting up. "You can't just _erase_ your entire past like that."

"I don't...I didn't. I don't even know if 'Hyde' _was_ my past."

Sam's stammering reversed Gene's memories to his DI's first day with him in CID. He remembered their first fight, in his office, that ended rather abruptly with a big fist to the gut. Oh how times had changed.

"You 'ad a concussion, apparently. That's what a PC Plod reckoned, anyway."

Tyler sat up harder against the wall; his ribs were starting to bother him again. "Yeah, apparently."

Gene snorted sceptically. "C'mon, you must remember summat about Hyde? At least about this whole 'Williams' thing?"

Sam shook his head coldly. "Nope."

"Then why the bloody 'ell is Morgan sayin' this?!"

That had done it - Gene had cracked. He slammed his fist against the concrete floor, regretting the decision although glad that Sam's head shot up; he could now see the younger officers face as he'd got his lighter out, pinching another cigarette from the packet.

He could see Sam's eyes narrowing, his words spitting distaste. "I don't know! I told you - I remember _nothing_!"

"Piss off, Tyler. You know exactly what 'e's on about! Why the 'ell don't you just tell me?"

There was an awkward pause between the two men. Sam appeared unhinged, his head motioning downwards; he couldn't tell his boss the truth, he just couldn't.

"Or is it that you don't just trust me?"

Gene's voice was icy, almost frozen. Sam's body shook, as if someone had just prematurely walked over his grave.

"Of course I trust you!"

"Prove it." Hunt's voice dropped, almost to inaudible levels.

"Prove it?"

"Yes."

"Prove what?"

"Tell me about the surname Williams...your supposed surname."

"I told you. I don't know."

Gene snorted dramatically, shaking his head in disgust. "Yes you do...you should have told me by now."

"The only reason I'm not telling you is coz I don't fucking well know!"

"I don't believe you. Do you want to know why I don't believe you? Coz you lied to us about spying on us, being under cover for that bastard..."

"Coz I didn't know that either!" Tyler stood to his feet, beginning to pace; it was preoccupying his mind from the idea of smacking Gene square in the face. "I wouldn't have lied to you like that."

"I'm starting to doubt you now, Tyler." Gene stated, standing to his feet. "You can't just expect me to believe that you've forgotten everything about 'Hyde'..."

"Ok, Gov, you wanna know the truth? I'll give you the fucking truth! I got told that my last name wasn't Tyler from that smug bastard, that my last name is Williams."

DCI Hunt rolled his eyes, standing directing in front of his DI; it was as if he'd heard this whole sob story millions of times before.

"I got told that my parents were not who I thought they were. I got told that my real parents died in a coach crash when I was a kid and that I kept waking up in cold sweats in a fucking hospital bed, screaming for them. So yeah, when you get told that your whole life is a lie, it does tend to screw your head up and you don't tell people, especially not your boss who you know will rip the shit out of you for it!"

Gene took a step back, his hands loosely hanging on his hips as he sighed away from the other man. He gazed back to the Inspector, after a few prolonged moments of contemplation, his DI's hands clutching his head as his eyes sparkled dully with tears; the pain was etched onto his face, like a sculptor carving into limestone.

Sam snivelled, looking away from his Chief, sitting solemnly back down against the wall. That was enough, that was it; Gene Hunt couldn't learn anymore about his past. That had nearly torn him in two.

"Why would I rip seven types of shit out of you for that, Sam?" Gene spoke, very humbly, his eyes attached to the floor. "You can't help your past, or change it. Hell, I know that better than anyone in the whole of Manchester."

Tyler glanced up, only for a split second. The Gov had calmed down significantly, actually wanting to listen to his woes. "The thing...the thing is, I don't even know if that was my past. That's all I've been told and I certainly don't remember Hyde." Sam cleared his throat, his voice lowering. "You _have_ to believe me on that one."

"HOW CAN YOU _NOT_ REMEMBER HYDE?!" a voice bellowed, it's owner barging into the room, shocking both coppers equally. "Hyde was your life, Sam, until you threw it all away in this dump!"

Morgan backed the DI into one of the four corners of the perfectly square room. Sam felt his heart beat faster and faster, as he saw the hate rise like poison in the other man's stiff eyes.

He grabbed Sam by the collar, hoisting him a little into the air, although not very much; Sam was heavier than you'd think. Plus, Morgan's arms were not as strong as they used to be, with all of the years of active service he'd been through.

"PUT HIM DOWN - NOW!" Gene's voice splintered the atmosphere, through the almost silence of Sam's struggling and uncomfortable grunts; he'd just about had enough of Morgan's attitude.

Spinning the fellow yet opposing DCI around, Hunt punched him square in the jaw, knocking him flying against the wall. Sam gasped, grateful for Gene's thug like actions, at least on this occasion.

Sam sprinted over to the door, without a second to waste. He jerked the handle several times, pulling as hard as he could. "Shit, it's locked!"

"Now what the 'ell do we do?"

The duo slumped against the cold, unforgiving wall once again. They were trapped and back to square one, yet again, now with a new room mate who was bound to cause more than enough problems.

- - - - - - - - - -

After a fairly short ride the car pulled up hurriedly yet unevenly onto the path. It had to be said that Chris wasn't the most cautious of drivers; he wasn't intentionally reckless like the Gov. Yet, he wasn't vigilant like Sam either.

Skelton - like Sam and Annie - lived alone in a flat. Annie glanced up at the building, shaking a little; it looked more than a little worse for wear, even more so than DI Tyler's set of apartments. Nearly all of the windows were covered with rotting cardboard, the thin material decaying because of violent rain storms from months ago. It seemed that no one could really be bothered to change any of them as if the place was merely forgotten about.

Even by the people who were unfortunate enough to live there.

Annie and Ray glanced at each other; both seemed appalled by the surroundings. DS Carling vaguely remembered a conversation he'd had with the younger man many months back. He explained how desperate he was to break away from his Mum's house, how instead of being mollycoddled and pampered daily, he wanted to live his life as a swingin' bachelor like he always envisaged that he was; bringing girls back from the Arms at all times of the morning (well, at least until closing time).

All three coppers made their way up the stairs, Annie shrieking several times at the appearance of rats and other creepy crawly things; she hated the place already. And that was before heading into DC Skelton's flat!

Unfortunately for both her and Ray, Chris' flat was no cleaner. Annie thought her home looked like a bombsite after her morning of briefly raiding the cupboard for a clean outfit!

It looked like Chris hadn't even dusted the place since arriving there; it was simply filthy. If she'd had enough guts to do so, Annie would have ran her finger along the table tops and knackered TV monitor, collecting masses of grey and black particles of fluff as she went along.

However, she decided against it; it was too filthy for words.

Chris invited his mates to sit on the sofa which both Annie and Ray were seriously contemplating. At last, after a short amount of deliberation, they perched themselves on the edge of the seat as close to the front of the cushion as possible.

The young constable made his way into the kitchen, peering in his rather bare cupboards; the doors were barely hanging on as it was. And, the ones that were, appeared chipped and broken. "What would you like to drink?"

Annie grimaced; she could barely stand the thought of being in the house for any length of time, let alone having anything to eat or drink from there. "Uh, no ta Chris, I'm ok at the minute."

Ray, seemingly unfazed by the whole idea, shrugged his shoulders. "A beer, mate, please." It possibly hadn't clicked with him that the glass would be as dirty as the rest of the place.

Annie shuddered; this was certainly going to be a long evening. Chris was nancying about in the kitchen, dragging glasses and bowls from another of his cupboards. She could just about see him pouring a packet of crisps into one of the plastic blue bowls, stumbling about with them as he waltzed into the living room.

"Now, 'eres a bowl of cheese and onion, and 'eres plain ones." Skelton announced, plonking the bowls onto the glass table before taking a seat next to Ray on a rickety chair that once belonged to his Grandmother. The eaten wood wobbled under his weight as he held his arms in the air to balance himself out.

Ray - rather impressed that there was a selection of snacks - took a handful of both flavour of crisps, munching them in his mouth as if there was no tomorrow.

"Oh, by the way, I should probably tell you that they're both five months out of date. Still crunchy though, don't ya think, mate?" Skelton spoke, mimicking his superior officers actions.

With that, Ray's face turned literally green. He ran over to the window, emptying his stomach contents rather quickly. As Chris blindly kept eating, Annie screwed her nose up; she already wanted to leave and she'd only been there for about five minutes!

"Right, so, 'ave either of you got a plan?" DC Cartwright questioned; she was now really determined to get this shambles of a meeting over with.

Just as Ray was about to rejoin the others, wiping traces of spittle from his bottom lip, a controlled yet eager knock came at the door.

To be continued...


	16. Chapter 16: Trapped

The room returned to darkness; the only form of light, although miniscule and artificial, came from the crack underneath the door frame, shining across Gene Hunt's face as he sat glaring into space, still deep in thought.

Sam Tyler guessed that it was getting pretty late; Morgan wouldn't be wasting electric if he didn't have to. He came across as pedantic and controlling; if he lived to see the days of Global Warming, he'd probably be one of those people that campaigned relentlessly for the cause that many wouldn't live to see succeed anyway. There was nothing wrong with being passionate about saving the planet but that DI got a little fed up of hearing about it constantly in the press, back in 2006.

He let his mind wonder too much; the day had been rather stressful. Sam had never ever intended on telling Gene his 'life story'. He'd dread the day he'd walk into CID to hear Carling jeer at him because the Gov had got a bit too tipsy at the Railway Arms the night before and started spilling his most personal secrets.

Then again, Sam felt that he'd uncovered a new found faith in his Governor; he was genuinely concerned for his welfare. Sam recognised the sympathy and sorrow in his eyes after the gut wrenching confession. It was as if they were kindred in spirits.

Either that or they were forced to be merely because of the complex set of circumstances.

Gene grunted, shifting his weight until he became a little more comfortable against the solid wall. He loosened his tie some more, the oppressive atmosphere in the room starting to really piss him off.

His harsh gaze landed on the fallen body of DCI Morgan; he was either passed out or asleep, Gene couldn't decipher which one. Either way, today had confirmed Hunt's initial impressions of him; Frank Morgan was complete and utter chicken shit.

Gene had known this the moment the other so-called Chief Inspector waltzed in on his kingdom, his head hung high, his nose in the air as if there was a constant bad smell underneath. The way he threw his weight around, the way he called his bunch of morons 'incompetent' and the way he tried to get him thrown in jail.

That was a catastrophe in itself.

The increasingly dimming light didn't help Gene as couldn't tell whether his DI was awake of not; he'd figure that he was still slumped hopelessly against the wall, broken ribs and all, in a distracted, restless state of sleep.

"Sam...oi, Gladys, are you awake?"

The rustling of the leather jacket became known. Sam crawled over to where his Gov sat, partly because he wanted to move (his limbs were becoming rather too stiff) and he wanted to talk to someone - anyone - without one Frank Morgan awaking.

"What's up?"

"Dunno. Just wan'ed someone to talk to."

"Oh." A few slight moments of deliberation made both men uneasy. "What about?"

"Dunno. Anything. Like what we're gonna do with that piece of crap when 'e wakes up?"

"I don't really know what we can do..."

"I'm surprised his bum bandit 'asn't been in 'ere, checkin' on 'im."

"Who? Mike Smith?"

"Yes, Sherlock, Mike Smith. That prick that knocked us both out cold before cooping us up in 'ere."

DCI Hunt raised his voice, trying to keep as much of a hushed over tone as possible; he was beginning to get more and more flustered the more he felt about the back handed treatment him and his Inspector had received.

Sam shuddered a little, disliking his Gov's turn of phrase. "You can't, at this time, confirm Mr. Smith's involvement with this whole affair."

"Oh wake up, Tyler! The guys been avoiding your questions like the plague since day one! Suddenly, we seem to find ourselves in 'is 'ouse and you're still tryin' to plead his case!"

"Gov, that's what we only think. I'll admit, he _has_ been trying to avoid answering some of my questions. But, you have to remember, he's going through trauma at the moment. His wife's gone missing, Police are breathing down the back of his neck, of course he's gonna be suspicious and scared for that matter."

"Who said?"

"Me." Sam whispered firmly, hearing the Governor grunt cynically. "Gene, I'm not saying he's not guilty, in fact, I know he played a part in all of this somehow..."

"Ha!"

"_But_ I don't think it was intentional - say he was set up, you know, as a cover up for Morgan."

DCI Hunt's cogs started turning; somehow that did just make sense. "If you can prove it, Tyler, you're a better man than I am."

Abruptly, a prolonged and worn groan transpired from the opposite corner of the room; Frank Morgan was waking up.

- - - - - - - - - -

Chris Skelton, taking another couple of assorted out of date crisps, tossed them down the back of his neck. He barely gave himself time to crunch them. In fact, in his rush, he nearly choked, neither Annie Cartwright or Ray Carling coming to his aide.

Eventually, the learning Constable made his way over to his door which Annie expected to collapse right onto him; she'd spent enough time in her lovers flat to appreciate the dodgy surroundings. By the looks of this place, it looked to be of an even lower standard to Sam's.

Wiping the odd soggy grains of salt from his finger tips, Chris opened the door, his mouth agape at who was stood their; in fact, it was a good job he'd just swallowed his last mouthful of his snacks or there could have been a rather nasty mess on both men's shoes.

"DI Norton - what are you doin' 'ere?"

Ray and Annie turned around, simultaneously, Carling shooting arrows at the Inspector.

"Oh, I didn't realise we were having an off premises meeting!" Norton sounded cheery, trying his best to get in the door.

However, one person in the room was having absolutely none of it.

"Who the bloody 'ell do you think you are to come in 'ere like this? We're off duty - remember? This is our time and if we want to spend it in each others company, we bloody well can do. We don't need your type comin' in 'ere, makin' things difficult, ok?"

Although eager to find out from such an astute person what his 'type' included, Norton casually shrugged his shoulders; really, he didn't have the time nor inclination to deal with this. "Actually, I just popped round to see how DC Skelton here thought the investigation was going - since he seemed to be the only person doing any amount of work whilst I was around."

Both Annie and Ray turned to each other, both seething. "'Ow the pissing 'ell did you expect us to work when you waltzed in, acting like you'd got something crammed up your arse and staring at 'er tits for most the day?"

It wasn't very often that the Sergeant spoke up on behalf of Annie; in fact, she was rather shocked. He spent most of the day either doing what he was condemning Norton for or rolling his eyes whenever she opened her mouth to speak.

Either that or he would now make constant, snide joke about her and Sam's budding relationship. Often along the lines of who had the bigger balls out of the two of them.

None the less, the young woman was grateful that someone - even if it was Ray Carling - was standing up for her.

"Well, DS Carling, it seems that you never over burden yourself with work." the Inspector decided, still keeping his voice low, almost pleasant yet firm. He turned to Annie, smiling over to her with a twinkle in his eye. "And, DC Cartwright, I'm so sorry if I offended you. I hope that I didn't make you as uncomfortable as your colleague here says."

Annie, standing to his feet and tottering over to the door frame, kept her hands loosely hung together, as they bounced over her stomach lightly. In the corner of her bright, cornflower blue eyes she could see Ray, his hands on his hips, glaring at her; he was subliminally telling her to let rip, tell the perverted bastard exactly what she thought of him. Make him know that she wasn't happy he was in CID, let alone in Chris' flat.

She glanced to her feet, clearing her throat a little; the dust was starting to trouble her. "To be honest, DI Norton, I'm pretty much used to that, in the office. I accept your apology." she nodded, seeing the Inspectors eyes light up.

"Thank you. Anyway, DC Skelton, DC Cartwright, I'll see you two tomorrow." Norton declared, waving goodbye to the two constables as he shot Ray a satisfied, catty look.

The young owner of the flat shut the door, grabbing another handful of crisps. However, the other man in the room was visibly disgusted. Annie felt this gaze upon her; she only glanced up quickly, her vision pointing downwards once again.

"What th- "

"I know, I know. I just don't want to fall out with 'im. At the end of the day, if we have to work with 'im until we get the Gov and DI Tyler back, we 'ave to be civil."

Ray tutted, growling as he took a cigarette from his pocket; that had pissed him off big style. "You should have just told the prick what you thought instead of all this shit about 'accepting your apology'." Carling mimicked snidely, lighting up his fag and taking a quick yet fierce drag on it.

Annie, her shoulders back, her head now upright, faced the Sergeant with great grit and determination. "Look, Ray, I know you're my superior officer and all but I will _not_ be told what to do by you when we are outside the working hours. Now, I'm sorry if my answer upset you, but we have to move on. We have to think of a solution and how to nail Mike Smith before he strikes again, ok?"

The atmosphere dropped. Ray couldn't look Annie in the eye for fear of seeing defeat. Chris nodded, inviting his work mates to sit down and think of a plan, once again.

With no unwelcome interruptions.

- - - - - - - - - -

Sam and Gene glanced at each other wearily; neither man had really planned for the waking up of Hyde's top DCI. Both feeling defensive, stood to their feet, taking small yet assured steps over to the corner where Morgan's body lay, half motionless, half alert.

Hunt, regaining his proud stance, snorted, clearing the phlegm from the back of his neck; he wanted to make sure that the despicable Chief Inspector heard him loud and clearly. "Morning Morgan - 'ow's the 'ead?"

DI Tyler couldn't help but snigger at the last remark of sarcasm. When the Gov's nonchalant yet downright rude comments weren't aimed in his direction, they were quite amusing to his ears. At least they brought a moderate amount of humour to the days proceedings.

Morgan turned onto his back, trying to stand too hastily; he would _not_ let Hunt and Williams have the advantage over him. Stumbling back to the ground, Morgan clutched his head. He could make out a bump the size of a medium egg forming on his forehead. Sam cringed inwardly; the Gov's fists were certainly deadly.

"What happened?" refusing to curse, Morgan exhaled jadedly, his finger tips still tracing the lump on his cranium.

"Your 'ead met my fist." Gene announced, rather proudly. "Let's just say they didn't get along too well."

"You don't say?" Morgan rasped, edging even closer to the corner of the wall; he was determined not to be beaten up - again.

Sam didn't honestly know what to say. He felt that it was almost his turn to speak, to say something either finicky or profound. Yet, words failed him. This situation was failing him.

"As soon as we - or I - get out of here, I'm going to make sure you get locked up, Gene, for assaulting a fellow officer." Morgan pronounced, now standing unsteadily on his feet as he grasped the wall for support.

DCI Hunt sniffed the air, his hands stuck in his pockets. "That's funny, Frank, coz I uh don't think anything of that nature occurred, do you, DI Tyler?"

Gene glanced over at Sam who knew exactly what he was doing with Frank Morgan; toying with him. Trying to unravel him before making him feel so inadequate, so small, that he would be forced to reveal everything to him, all of his scheming and planning. Simple.

Or so he hoped.

"No, I never saw anything along those lines, Gov, not at all."

"So, 'Frank', when do you plan on gettin' outta 'ere then?" Gene snickered, knowing how irritated Morgan would become now that they were on first name terms.

Morgan sneered, still with a sense of dignity about him. "As soon as possible."

He shoved past both members of Manchester's A Division, striding over to the door. He nudged the frame, his sweating palms and forehead telling the story of his frustration. He put his shoulder to it, soon regretting that decision immensely.

Sam and Gene, knowing how to make the situation hundreds of times worse for the DCI began to whistle, like birds at the crack of dawn; extremely clearly yet ear piercingly inhospitable.

Morgan wiped his damp palms across his chest, down the front of his navy suit. His anger was beginning to show. No matter how much he tried to conceal it, like a bout of acne on the night of a ball, it just wasn't working. His eyes became heavier and more vengeful as he tried to keep his distance from the other two.

In spite of that, there were questions on his mind too.

"So, Mr. Will-"

"DI Tyler to you." Sam spoke steadfastly; he hoped that all of this nonsense about Williams wasn't about to be discussed.

"DI Williams, have we told your current DCI all about your past?"

Sam, as much as he tried, couldn't avoid his emotions surfacing on his face. His eyes darted to the ground. He should have known that this situation wouldn't solely play out in their favour.

"Yes, he did." Gene affirmed on his Inspectors behalf; he could see how uncomfortable his officer was beginning to appear; his shoulders slumped, his head hung downwards. "And, being as we are on the subject, can I just say how proud I am of 'im."

Sam's head lifted a little; was Gene Hunt saying something remotely nice about him? Surely this was another one of those vividly cruel dreams he was starting to have yet again.

Gene marched slowly forward. "I am proud that 'e's in Manchester, keeping **bastards** like _you_ off the street!"

"Oh yeah, how did you come to the conclusion, Gene, that I'm an illegitimate child?"

Gene chuckled acrimoniously. "You know what, 'Frank', I don't care what 'is past was like. I don't care about 'Yde and most importantly, I don't care about you. When we get out of this dump, I'm gonna tell the world exactly what I think of you. 'Ow _you_ had tens of women in this city brutally murdered coz of an old grudge you have with _one_ man. 'Ow you had a child beaten coz of who 'er Daddy is."

"What makes you so sure, Gene, that I arranged all of this, hum?"

Sam even thought that Gene was treading on dodgy ground right now; that was only a theory that he'd been mulling over, for lack of anything else to do. It seemed logical, granted, but the Gov didn't exactly have a way with words.

Gene glanced only very slightly over his shoulder, to inspect his DI's facial expressions. He didn't seem too hopeful right now.

"And, most importantly, Gene, whatever makes you think that you and William's over there are ever getting out of here?"

Gene was livid; he'd taken all that a man could take. His blood was boiling, a kettle with a blown fuse. "If YOU will never let us out of 'ere, Morgan, then I shall make sure that you never do, either. I'll make sure that you are so broken, so bruised, so pissin' dead, that you're legs will be snapped in too many places, that you'll never, _ever_ be able to get out of 'ere, on your own. Or that you'll have no way of stoppin' us gettin' out, got it?"

As Gene gesticulated, spittle flying from his gob like fireworks on a New Year's celebration, Sam was starting to question his Gov's integrity.

In fact, he was beginning to question whether Gene Hunt had _ever _had any integrity at all.

To be continued...

* * *

Hey! Thank you to JudasFm and losttimelady for being kind enough to review the last chapter as well as Cat Yuy for adding this to your alerts list!

I hope that if you've read this instalment, that you'd be kind enough to leave me feedback!


	17. Chapter 17: Flirting with danger?

**Hello and welcome to one of the final chapters of 'Blimey, it's a baby!'. We're not quite at the end of the yellow brick road just yet but we're getting there. A huge thank you goes out to everyone who read chapter 16, especially to JudasFm and losttimelady for reviewing - it's so helpful when I get feedback to know where I'm going wrong or possibly right and it is very much appreciated!**

**Sorry if this chapter is a bit too long. In the end, I didn't know where to cut it so that you got a dose of all of the characters. Stick with it, I hope you like it!**

* * *

Hearing his footsteps echo around him, DI Norton, one hand casually held in his trouser pocket, stepped inside the near empty CID office, his face barely moving. He wasn't surprised that no one was there to greet him bright and early that morning. Not after the frosty reception he received yesterday. 

Not that he was too bothered; at least without dead weights clogging up the place, he should be able to get on with some proper detective work!

He made his way into his temporary office, laying his briefcase down on the desk. As he removed his black, woollen jacket, he realised that he was only wearing it to be pretentious. It was hardly needed at this time of year.

He turned around and spied the office most suspiciously; he swore that he'd left the chair facing the door. He always had and possibly always would do; it made every office (including one as un-kept as DCI Hunt's) look neater and certainly more professional.

Suddenly, it spun around. He jumped back a little, expecting no one else to be present. "DI Norton."

"An- I mean, DC Cartwright, what are you doing here, at this unearthly time?" he questioned, taking a quick glance at his gold watch.

Annie, stretching as she stood, pulled her skirt down a little, her movements slow and taunting yet very alluring. Standing in front of him, she smirked warmly. "Didn't you see the rotor? I'm here early to make sure _all_ of the paperwork is set up for today."

"What kind of paper work?" Norton spoke twitchily, Annie's closeness making him anxious.

She purred with delight, grabbing his tie as she curled the silky fabric between her slender fingers. He gradually spied down to her hands, well moistured with her rounded nails decorated in a very smart yet attractive peachy pink colour. "You know - paperwork, about cases. There's that nice, small form that I need you to sign for me."

Annie's voice became lower, more breathless, her grasp on the tie becoming tighter as she slid her other hand downwards, further and further from Norton's neck, all the way down his chest and stomach. "Wow, you have a great body - do you work out much?"

Her lips, so close to his ear he could feel her breath taunting the finest hairs on the back of his neck, Norton stepped away, thankful that the Constable let go of his tie at the same time; he didn't fancy being strangled. "Uh, yeah, sometimes. Now, if you just get that form for me to sign I'll, uh, do it for you."

He straightened his tie and shirt out, taking in a sharp, confused breath. His eyes trailed behind her, watching her as she playfully left the room, finding her desk amongst the stacks of files, paperwork and even empty cans and food packaging. Norton shook his head; this place really needed a good clean up. How Manchester's A Division could even consider functioning in such a state was beyond him.

Annie bent over, her backside sticking up in the air; Norton could not help but look. After all, he was just as hot blooded and horny as the rest of the coppers. He just had a completely different way of showing it.

After moments of shifting folders, Annie beamed, finding the piece of paper she required. Making sure that she was decent, she headed back into the Governor's office, a frisky grin on her face.

"Sorry about that, Inspector Norton. I had a few problems finding it, that's all."

"That's quite alright." he replied, in a hasty, almost sulky manner; he knew he was being played for a fool but, at the same time, was kind of enjoying it.

He snatched the paper from her, taking out his reading glasses to inspect the words underneath his nose. Annie bent over him, her breasts beginning to show in the corner of his eye. He jiggled about a bit, crossing his legs underneath the table.

"Do you need a _pen_, Inspector?" she questioned, sickly sweetly like a Mississippi Mud Pie.

He swallowed. Hard. She rubbed herself up against him, finding a biro, her perfume stained arm allowing him a direct whiff.

He thought how nice it smelt, a rather soft, flowery fragrance. Deciding not to let his feelings known, he knew that she'd only flirt with him even more than she was doing. "Oh, uh, thank you DC Cartwright but I sign all of my documents with my gold fountain pen." he replied at long last, scurrying around in his briefcase in a desperate attempt to find his special instrument.

He found the pen after a few tense moments of searching. Annie bent over, making sure her most valuable assets (at least to the average male eye) were in better view, leaning across him to his left side. She avoided the idea Chris had last night about sucking the pen; she didn't want to push things too far.

He glanced over his shoulder for the slightest of split seconds. He analysed his work once again, taking the paper in his masculine hands. "Here you go, DC Cartwright." he spoke, handing her the document. "Is there anything else you need me to do at the moment?" he asked, taking another peep at his watch. It wasn't even quarter past five.

This wasn't a blessing for Norton; he was desperate to get into CID before anyone else did, find the files that he required and then leave. Simple. He was going to call in sick, saying that he'd eaten some dodgy food the night before (this would have been pretty easy to believe, he felt, looking at some of the establishments in Manchester). Simple. Or not.

She continued, slowly, methodically, running the tips of her fingers over his broad shoulders, her hands making swirling motions that massaged him uncomfortably.

"Uh, Annie, dear, can you leave me alone for a little while. There are a few things that I need to do - in private."

She smirked. "Like what?"

"Just a few secret files."

"Oh. Ok." Annie replied, looking rather rejected. She looked to her feet, dragging her heels as she made towards the door. Then, she turned back, a small yet warm smile on her lips. "Call me if you want me." she winked, returning to her desk with a sigh.

'I hope that's confused him.' she mused, collapsing behind her desk, checking to make sure he wasn't spying on her. Which he wasn't. 'Now Ray, Chris and that lot 'ad better keep to their end of the bargain.'

- - - - - - - - - -

DS Carling was enjoying his authority, at least for the moment. Now that they'd been able to devise a pretty good plan for the day ahead, he was confident of victory against Mike Smith. In fact, he was so confident, he would put money on them closing the job up by midnight.

He glanced down at his overalls. Perfect. He really looked the part, although the navy jumpsuit was a little tight around the middle. "One or two many beers." he tittered softly, patting his belly. In fact, even though he didn't want to admit it (especially not to himself), Ray was surprised he could get one leg inside. He'd worn the overalls nearly ten years ago, when he first moved into this very home. When he used to do odd painting and DIY jobs on the side, to earn a bit more money to pay for the semi-detached property.

It wasn't a bad place for a regular bachelor like Ray Carling; it was clean enough. Sure, it could do with a lick of paint in places and the furniture needed updating but other than that, it was a subtly good little property that he'd bought for a fairly good price.

At the time, however, it was unbeknownst to him that the reason he'd got it so cheap was because there had been a bloody, brutal murder there just a few months prior to him moving in. In fact, he wasn't aware of this until a couple of years ago, the Gov informing him on all of the gory details. Still, it didn't bother a real man's man like Ray at all; he didn't believe in ghosts or all that palaver. Actually, he was rather proud of where he lived. It showed a great amount of intestinal fortitude (or 'balls of steel') on his part, being able to stick it in such a place.

Now, all he was waiting for was that div Chris and the other recruit to get their sorry arses into gear.

Suddenly, a knock came at the door. "Bingo!" he muttered, striding over to the door, greeted by the young Constable. With a trail of butter slipping down his chin, Chris waved with his free hand, taking another large bite out of his bacon and egg butty, watching carelessly as the red and brown sauce splattered onto the off cream coloured carpet of Ray's home. "Oooppps, sorry 'bout that." he half apologised, half stated, moping himself up with the greasy paper bag. Ray rolled his eyes. What a moron.

"Well?"

"Well wha'?" Chris examined his current boss' face in suspicion. "Oh 'ere, they 'adn't got any sausage butty's left so I got you bacon, is that ok?"

"No, you div! Is 'e in the car?" Ray questioned; he began to feel his pulse rise already.

That was certainly _not_ a good sign!

"Oh yeah, 'e wants you to 'urry so we can go over the plan again, just to make sure like."

"Good." Ray snarled, snatching the sandwich from Chris' eager hands, locking his door behind him. He couldn't wait to get back there later that day, sleeping soundly in his bed, knowing that he'd done a good deed for the city of Manchester.

The two men strolled out, the sun already beginning to show it's bright and oppressive presence. Carling came to a standstill, peering at Chris trundling over to a wrecked, dirty vehicle.

As the Constable opened the doors in the back, Ray crept in, unsure as to whether it was a good idea allowing so much weight to be in there. "Morning, Litton." he spoke vengefully; as much as he didn't like the enemy from within the ranks, he was grateful that he had agreed to this bizarre scenario. That Litton would help get the Gov back where he belonged; in CID and back in The Railway Arms.

Oh, and Tyler too.

"Guten Morgen, _Sergeant_ Carling. And how are we today?" the DCI's question wad accompanied by the same nasal, absurdly arrogant tone.

"Just peachy." Ray replied, swallowing his pride as if it was grit and salt. That voice made him want to smack Litton straight in the chin.

_'Must...stay...calm.'_

"Great! Then, I think we all need to make sure we know what we are doing today, if that's all right by you two."

"Sure!" Chris responded eagerly, picking up another out of date packet of crisps.

Ray could have throttled the little prick; them things made him puke like mad yesterday - how inconsiderate of him!

Then again, this whole day was never designed to be convenient.

- - - - - - - - - -

_He could feel the tube, snaked down his neck, making him want to choke, be violently sick until it uncoiled it's self from inside of him. He could feel his Mother's soft hands caress his arms, stroking the side of his face, making him feel loved; The only ounce of warmth in such an environment. The only warm thing in contact with his body right now._

_"Right, Mrs. Tyler, today is the day! Sam must decide whether he should live or die!"_

_He heard her gulp, her distressed grip tightening on his hand. "A-are you sure?"_

_"Yes I'm perfectly sure!" the surgeon spoke, forever confident. Borderline irritating. Definitely over zealous._

_"But, Dr. Morgan, I don't want to tur-"_

_"You may not have a choice Mrs. Tyler. Sam may give up comple-"_

The door crashed open, Sam's head shooting up with lightening quickness. His eyes stung as bright yellow light flooded to his pupils. His body ached; sleeping on a cold, concrete floor was certainly not the best of tonics for a set of broken ribs.

He rubbed his eyes, propping himself up with one hand as the other massaged his forehead, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

"Bastard."

The gruff, unintentionally low mutterings came from a familiar person.

Suddenly, a body rushed past him, pounding on the door at full speed. His vision was still hazy with sleep, his mind just as clogged. "OPEN THIS DOOR AT ONCE! I'M NOT GOING TO BE LOCKED IN HERE FOREVER!"

Sam, finally managing to sit himself up, feeling traces of dust on the ends of his fingers, glanced over at his DCI who appeared less than amused; a trademark cigarette dangling from an upturned corner of his mouth.

"Oh shut up you bloody tart!"

Morgan, not feeling like arguing with someone as fierce as Gene Hunt, cleared his throat, making sure his top button was done up to the very spot under the chin, assuring himself that his suit - that he'd now been wearing for well over twenty-four hours - was as straight as possible; there is never an excuse for sloppiness.

Sam began to feel more awake. Especially after hearing his Governor throw an insult at someone! He sat up, exhaling loudly; partly through his tiredness, his aching body and his weary mind. He felt sick, annoyed at his rib pain and hunger bouts. He hadn't eaten anything since the other morning with Annie before...

Gene eyed his DI, trying to put himself in his position. His wife would often tell him to do it with her. Perhaps if he had done sooner, their marriage would have been happier, more enjoyable for the both of them. No one could ever accuse him of being overly thoughtful.

Yet, he looked at Sam and just felt pain on his behalf. He looked so sad, so ill. Especially after yesterday. Gene hated hearing what Sam had to say, although he was strangely intrigued by his DI's revelations. He knew he'd pushed him too far; Sam hated it, revealing it all to Gene.

But Gene was hurt by Sam's reaction. He was hurt that his Inspector felt so little of him, at times, thinking that he'd actually go out and blab to everyone about his troubled past.

In fact, most of them at the station had already guess that Sam had had a pretty rough ride in his life; you could just see it in his eyes, when he was working on a case (especially involving families torn apart through one reason or another).

That's probably why he was such a picky pain in the arse, Gene guessed; he didn't want to see more lives ruined.

Before Sam, Gene had never trusted anyone enough with _his_ past. Not even Ray who had been his closest mate in the station for several years. Sure, Carling was a good drinking buddy, always up for a laugh but he was hardly someone you could bare your heart and soul to.

Sam was just so different; he wanted to listen, to try and understand a bit more, to help make other people better themselves. To help.

"Sam, I think you should eat something." Gene stated, shuffling around in the small carrier bag that Mike Smith had just thrown into the room.

"Food?"

"Yeah - that Smith moron throws summat in every morning. It has to last the whole day. If I'd known you were comin' yesterday, I would 'ave saved you some."

Tyler didn't appear too hopeful. In fact, Gene had seen funeral processions more rosy! "Can I go back to bed first?"

"No, you fairy! You need to get yer tablets!" Gene demanded, like a bossy Mother ordering their child about. Yet, it was for his own good. At least that's how the Gov saw it.

Gene threw Sam a packet of something, neither of whom knew exactly what it was. Sam screwed his nose up after taking one bite. He felt even worse than before. The texture was once dry and brittle, but slowly turning soggy like cracker bread in the stages of going off.

Then again, Sam knew didn't try and force it down, Gene would do it for him, forcing him to chew at twice the speed with triple the amount in his gob. It would save them both time and effort just for Sam to do it.

DCI Hunt needed Sam to be perky; today was the day he was determined to break out of this hell hole. Today was the day that Morgan was going to confess everything. Sam was just the person Gene needed to make this all happen.

Lighting a candle that he found in the bag (wondering why Smith had put them in there), he watched as his DI tossed a couple of pain pills pack with ill feeling; they tasted nasty and really needed something to help swallow them down with.

Gene Hunt then diverted his attention to Morgan, slumped proudly and ignorantly inconsolable against the wall. He looked deflated, as if he'd just been punched in the gut by one of the Gene Genie's right fists.

"This shouldn't be happening." Morgan muttered to himself. He couldn't crack. Not now.

"So, Morgan, are you gonna tell us what this whole thing's about?"

At first, Frank didn't want to reply. Gene knew how stubborn Sam could be; he had to live with the picky git practically 24/7 (literally at the minute). He didn't realise it was a trait bred commonly in Hyde. Or supposedly.

"Look, I want at least a justification as to why so many young women have been killed." DI Tyler piped up, licking his lips to try and rid himself of the taste of the antibiotics. He collected his leather jacket from the ground, wrapping it around himself as he delved in his pockets for mints, chewing gum. Anything to dispose of the horrid tang in his mouth.

There came a light snigger from across the room, a reaction neither man expected.

"What tickled you, Morgan? One of those white feathers up your jacksey?"

"No, no, Gene. I've always known you to have the intelligence of a Neanderthal, but I expected much better of _you_, DI Williams."

"DI Tyler."

"You see, by killing all of those poor, defenceless little women, you showed your greatest weaknesses to the world."

"Oh yeah, what's that?" Gene boldly interjected.

"Your inabilities as Policemen were exposed, so prominently, you were the only ones that now look like fools."

"So you admit that you're the perverted sod who made this all happen?" Gene muttered, ready to pounce.

"Yes." Morgan replied, without a speck of defeat or ignominy in his voice.

"You left no clues. You obviously had a very detailed, formulated plan," Sam said, remaining dignified yet moot. "No weapons have been found. We were at a loss."

"Of course! _My_ officers in Hyde made _you_ look incompetent. We grabbed your attention, made you scared. That's the only way we do it in Hyde. Not that you know about that anymore, Williams. You're too busy playing Gene Hunt's lapdog!"

Sam, trying to stay calm, just coughed a little. He wasn't going to go and prove Morgan's point by giving him a good slap - he'd leave that for the Gov instead! "Well, let's just say that perhaps Hyde isn't right, _all _of the time."

Sam's voice, clear and confident with perhaps an ounce too much of egotism, made Morgan loose it. Stomping over, he grabbed Sam by the scruff of the neck, hoisting him into the air, snickering as Sam didn't even try and defend himself, his arms laying stiffly against his body. Possibly to protect his already injured ribs?

Gene stood to his feet just as Morgan slammed Sam straight into the wall, punching him in the face. Tyler, although dazed, wheezing at the sudden impact, fought back, punching Morgan so hard that he flew backwards, Sam dropping to his knees, checking to make sure that he wasn't bleeding too badly. He was hunched over, trying to get his breath back.

Hunt wouldn't tolerate that, Sam was sure of it. He kicked Morgan to the ground, watching as the other DCI squirmed, trying to protect himself with his hands, his legs curling up into a tight ball like a hedgehog, scared for his life. And rightfully so.

Sam, trying to regain his faculties, got to his feet, trying to hold his Governor back; he knew that beating the shit out of Morgan would do nothing other than make matters worse than they absolutely needed to be. They'd just been given the confession of the year; they couldn't afford to loose their criminal now.

"I WARNED YOU MORGAN! DON'T YOU _DARE_ MESS WITH ANY OF MY OFFICERS OR YOU'LL NEVER MAKE IT OUTTA 'ERE, YOU UNDERSTAND?!"

Gene yelled, louder than Sam had heard before. His face was crimson, his hands shaking in pure anger, as if rage had completely taken over his whole body.

Then, there came yells from outside as the door swung open with an enormous crash making them all come to a standstill.

To be continued...


	18. Chapter 18: The Sick Reveal

Hello my dears! Welcome to the second to last chapter of 'Blimey, it's a baby!' Again, this chapter is fairly long but it does help to answer a lot of the questions from earlier on in the story so I hope you stick with it! I'm sure you can't wait for all of your burning questions to be answered:P Thank you once again to losttimelady, Mindless Image and JudasFm for reviewing last time!

Here we go! Enjoy!

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"YOU GET IN THERE YOU BITCH! HOW DARE YOU SHOW YOUR FACE IN **MY** HOME EVER AGAIN, AFTER WHAT YOU'VE DONE?! _SLAG_!"

Although his face was obscured by the shadow of the room, Mike Smith's voice shone as clear as the August sun. A blonde woman, thrown into the room by her hair, sobbed, clutching something dearly to her chest, trying desperately to defend whatever it was. She fell to the floor in angst, landing on her side, still holding whatever it was wrapped in her arms dearly. She obviously didn't care for herself. Not anymore.

Sam gasped, rushing over to her as the door banged shut, once again. "Are you ok, love?" he questioned in great haste. Then, his jaw dropped, his face long with surprised. "Auntie Jillian?" he mumbled, so inaudible that people just turned and stared at him. No one could comprehend him.

She turned to sit against the wall, cowering away from the DI. In the vague light that was Gene holding a candle, provided by Mike, into the air, Sam knew it was her; her eyes, red and swollen. Strands of her dirty, lacklustre hair clung to her face, the tears washing over her blushed cheeks; she was humiliated by the scene.

Scratching her heels against the floor, she hung to herself, burying her head into the object of all of her trauma. She couldn't believe this was happening to her. Especially not in front of all these strangers.

Well, not in as many words.

Sam, taking one look at the half dead carcass of Morgan, turned to the Gov who appeared as equally as perplexed as the younger man. Sam swallowed, Gene's head directing his Inspector to find out exactly what was going on.

Sam knew he had to be subtle, not revealing too much or too little. He _had_ to tread carefully. The woman was in a right state, seemingly in emotional turmoil. He had to block out any sentiments of coming from the future, believing that she was indeed his Aunty. He had to do his job.

He inched closer to her, slowly but effectively. He got in front of her, several centimetres away from her face; not too close yet not too far for privacy. "Hi, I'm DI Tyler - Sam. What's your name?"

He heard her snivel, her head lifting a little, revealing one of her rounded green eyes in curiosity yet great suspicion. "Sam Tyler. I have a nephew called that." she responded resignedly, shying away from any definite answers of her own.

Sam gazed away quickly, continuing to chew his gum. "Really?"

"Yeah. So they did get the right people?" she spoke lowly, her head lifting once again to take a look at the other man.

"Right people, love?" Gene quizzed, becoming involved.

"Yeah, this whole thing. They got you."

"They?" Sam played dumb, now sitting besides the woman, still keeping his distance but at the same time offering some much needed protection.

"Yeah. Mike Smith and Frank Morgan. _Bastards_. I can't believe they've done this." she snorted, glancing up at the ceiling in desolation, her arms wrapping themselves tighter around whatever she was clasping.

Sam could see his Gov, out of the corner of his eye, shifting his weight, his lips pursed. "Ok, sweet'eart, can you start from the beginning for us?"

The blonde felt that somehow she could trust DI Tyler. She offered him a hasty, confused look.

"Oh, don't worry, that's my DCI - Gene Hunt. Tell us what's been going on, how this has all come about?"

Choking on her tears, she couldn't take her eyes off Morgan the whole time she spoke. Her speech was quiet, tactful yet honest. From Sam's memory, Aunty Jillian was one of the worst liars to ever walk the planet. His Mum had said that so many times before.

"Well, about a month ago, when I was about to give birth to my baby, the day before I went into hospital we got a phone call from C Division in Hyde. Now, I'd never visited the place, but my husband - _Mike_ - apparently had," she began, the distaste of her husband's name extremely perceptible. "Well, this chap called DCI Morgan told us that he needed our help."

"What kind of help?" Gene pestered, getting a fairly stern look from Sam. Gene wasn't one for listening for too long so probably decided to keep himself amused by asking questions that were obviously to be answered, earlier if he hadn't interrupted.

"He said that it was top secret and that we'd have to go to Hyde to listen to what he had to say," She answered, looking to the ground. "So, the day after I was discharged, we went to Hyde, to talk to this...this _man_."

She paused, seemingly to recollect herself. Sam rubbed her back gently, trying to spur her on, offer her some much needed support. "What happened next?"

"Then...Morgan told us that he needed our help. Something to do with our family, Ruth and Vic."

Sam sat up, listening more attentively. His stomach dropped; he knew he wouldn't want to hear this. "Oh yeah? Then what?"

"He told us this bizarre story about a copper. About you DI Tyler-"

"Please, call me Sam."

"Ok - Sam - saying that you thought that your parents were our Ruth and Vic."

Sam exhaled briskly, wanting the ground to swallow him up there and then; Gene was giving him the most incomprehensible look he'd ever seen.

"That you were actually called DI Williams. I can't remember all of that bit." she rubbed her head with one hand, closing her eyes tightly shut as if the conversation would magically reappear.

"It's ok, love, just tell us all you can." Gene reassured, running a hand through his locks.

"That bit was awfully convoluted to me. Mike was fascinated with it - found it all strange but so, so interesting. Anyway, he told us that he had come up with a plan to show your department up, to try and put his plan into operation."

"Go on." Sam urged, now fully alert.

"So his team could take over Manchester's A Division, and build it in Hyde's vision. He was going to prove your incompetence by making sure everyone would know about it." she said, her pronunciation of some words slightly off; she was trying her best to imitate Morgan's exact words, although her mind was clearly trying to reject all notions.

"He wanted everyone to take notice. Especially the media. That's why he had all of those women killed."

Sam sat up, clearing his throat. "Where does Mike Smith fit into all of this, then?"

"Mike was controlled by Morgan, plain and simple. He changed when they met. Mike had always been fascinated with crime, with the darker side of life. He'd been complaining about the police for a while. Especially what happened with Vic - his sister's husband. He wanted revenge for that, for his kid sister being left without a husband for income support."

Sam felt himself shiver. He didn't want to hear this. The Mike Smith he'd remembered was always kind and thoughtful towards him; always buying him and Ruth presents, taking care of them whilst Vic was on the road, trying to earn cash for the family. Trying to earn money for them to survive.

And then, he left.

"He hated you guys after that." she chuckled, lightly, regretfully. "He was convinced that you drove Vic out of town, making him leave."

"Mrs. Smith, I know this may be hard for you to answer and I apologise for asking but did Mike Smith kill _any_ of those women?"

Suddenly, Jillian began to cry, making Sam sorry that he'd gone there. His tone, although innocuous, did nothing to comfort her. However, answers were needed for the sake of the deceased young girls families. And for the whole justice system.

"Ye-yes. He was going to do it again. A girl, looked barely older than fifteen in the alleyway outside the house. I came back, to collect some of my baby's clothes and what not. H-he was wearing thick, rubber gloves, black clothing. He was about to take the sledgehammer down on the girl. She was screaming, begging for her life. She was shaking below him. He'd made her sit below him. Probably to give himself power, I don't know. I feel like I've never known him, now."

She paused, taking a handkerchief from her pocket and dried her eyes, the rest of the weeks mascara finally rubbing free in a flood of grey misery.

"Then, he saw me coming. I tried to hide from him at first, you know, so we wouldn't get hurt. But then I feel against a dustbin. The lid fell off, clattering, startling him and the young girl. He yelled at me, telling me that I was stupid, that I was ruining everything. She managed to get away in time. Thankfully."

The blonde could barely hold her distain any longer, she broke down, lifting the baby from within her close clasps, sobbing freely before the men. Gene and Sam spied each other; they knew that this was the truth, as painfully true as it all was.

"Aislin." Sam mumbled, offering to take her. Her mother shook her head; at this moment in time, she couldn't trust anyone with her daughter. Not even her own Father.

"No, no, it's ok, love. I know Aislin. She was left outside of my flat several days ago. I took her to hospital - she was black and blue." Sam remembered grimly.

"Tell me - did Mike harm your daughter?"

Jillian Smith daren't admit the biggest misgiving of all; her inability to protect her baby when she needed her most. "Mike would get angry with Ai so easily. All the time I was pregnant, he couldn't wait for her to be born. Neither of us could. Then...when we met Morgan, it changed," she paused, trying to comprehend all of this. "He got irritated so much easier. At first, he would only give her a tap on the face, to try and get her to shut up. Then, it got a lot worse."

Sam encouraged Jillian to take it easier; she looked like she was about to faint through her anxiety.

"One night he was on the phone to Morgan. Ai started to cry. I'd been having a bad day. I couldn't get her to feed. Th-then Mike snatched her from me, started hitting her. I couldn't stop him. He yelled at me. _'Get the fuck away from me or I kill you!'_. I-I knew he wasn't joking. I knew he would do it. That's the same night that she was left outside your flat, as part of the plan..."

Jillian's voice broke, her shoulders crumpling.

"I'm...so sorry...darling." she stammered uncontrollably, holding her baby girl closer.

The room went silent again as DCI Hunt and DI Tyler decided what would be best to do next. Throughout the whole interview, her words were barely louder than a whisper, her quivering evident both in her body language and voice. She was terrified.

Especially when Morgan grunted in the corner; she stopped dead in her tracks. Until Hunt got up and kicked him in the bonce to make sure he was out cold. Then, she returned to her saga.

Gene and Sam were both shocked by the revelations; especially Sam. It had confirmed all of his worst fears about his past. Many things echoed in his head. He couldn't control some of them.

About this time (if it was true that he was three in 1973) he could vaguely remember the disappearance of his Uncle Mike. His Mum sat him down, told him gently that he'd gone. That he was forced to leave town, that he wouldn't understand. Then, his Aunt Jillian went missing. So did Aislin.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy. It's your Aunty Jillian - she died. She was found dead. Alone. I-I can't believe it."

Sam reopened his eyes, trying to shake the forlorn memories from his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he could still see his Mum crying, so much that her breath was shaky, her eyes so bloodshot.

He couldn't let that happen again. For the sake of baby Aislin; no one knew what happened to her after that fateful night.

Him and his DCI needed to formulate a plan and fast before history could tragically repeat itself.

- - - - - - - - - -

Pulling up to the familiar property, Chris took in a deep breath; the whole future of the station was resting firmly on his, Ray and Litton's shoulders.

They all spied the house with great fear although two of the van's occupants were too proud to admit it.

There was no chance of backing out then and there though; everyone was depending on them, especially Annie who obviously didn't want to be left with the creep Norton for very long.

"So, Constable Skelton and Sergeant Carling - are you both clear of the plan?"

They nodded in agreement, although Chris looked like he was about to loose his breakfast! This was by far the biggest challenge the young man had ever undertaken in his career so far.

"Good, well, lets get on with it!" Litton ordered, stepping confidently from the brown window cleaning van, slamming the door shut with a self important thud.

Chris doubted whether this plan would work; in fact, he more than doubted the plan, he wished they'd never come up with it! However, Annie had assured them it would work in one way or the other. In fact, she guaranteed it.

As he and Ray began collecting ladders and buckets from the van, he kept a close eye on DCI Litton's actions. He was wearing sunglasses for starters - a stupid move considering they were trying to 'fit in' with the common man. In fact, Litton realised this momentarily after knocking on the door. He was sure that he needed to remain cool but without giving the game away too much.

The door opened by a crack, a middle height, balding gentleman stood behind it. "Yeah, what do you want?"

Litton wasn't quite expecting that amount of hostility but soldiered on none the less. "Hello, we are here to clean your windows."

"What happened to my other window cleaner?"

"I'm afraid he's had to go away for some time and he's sent us as his cover." Litton announced, looking over his shoulders as Ray and Chris came trundling down the path.

"Three people are one man's cover?"

Litton gulped; he hadn't expected that last question. Thankfully, Sergeant Ray was keeping his wits about him.

"Yeah, we're 'is apprentices."

Mike tittered aggressively. "If you don't mind me saying so, you look a bit old to be _anyone's_ apprentice."

Ray, his eyes tapering. He tried to keep his cool, realising just how important this was to the entire city.

"Yes, well, he just moved to the area. Fancied trying something a bit different." Litton affirmed, gesticulating for the DC and DS to make their way around the back of the house.

Smith was sceptical, especially with Ray's Manchurian accent. Alas, he had bigger problems than a few window cleaners to contend with. Starting with that bitch of a wife. "Ok. Just make it quick."

Litton nodded, following his officers to the side of the building, hearing the door slam shut.

"Go on, get up the ladder. I'll 'old it for yer." Carling stated, taking a fag from his top pocket.

Chris gulped. "Uh, can't you go up, Ray?"

"No, it's an order you div. Get up there!"

"I uh, can't."

Litton and Carling glimpsed at each other. "And why not?"

"Co-coz...I'm scared of 'eights."

Ray and the DCI shook their heads in exasperation. "Why the bloody 'ell didn't you say so last night?!" Ray queried, now at boiling point.

"Dunno. Just didn't seem like the right time, that's all."

"Don't give me any of that rubbish! Get up there and start cleaning - now!" Litton ordered, pushing Chris' backside, nearly sending him flying into the glass he was meant to be cleaning!

Although he was keeping an eye on what the 'window cleaners' were doing, Mike Smith was in need of a stiff drink. He knew it was only a matter of time before more copper's found him, wanting his head on a silver platter.

He took a huge swig of vodka, sticking his snarling tongue out; he hated the friction down the back of his neck, scorching the tissue in his mouth and throat. Yet, it felt good; it helped him block out all of the days events, like a black cloud obscuring all thought and memory. He needed to forget what his wife had done. Or something sinister may well have happened to her.

Mike's next plan of action hadn't really been made; he didn't know entirely what to do if the copper's had shown their ugly mugs around there. He thought about playing it cool, like he had been doing, and if he needed to fight, he needed to fight; simple as.

There came a knock at the door. Making himself jump, Mike took another gulp of Vodka, teetering over to the door; he felt like puking on whoever was there at that second.

Meanwhile, around the back of the property, Chris was still up the ladder - he was about to enter the unknown; him and Ray had managed to find an open window, giving them the golden opportunity that they'd been awaiting with open arms. It sure beat their back up plan of putting an elbow through the glass!

Chris began to notice just how high up in the air they both were. Glancing over the chimney pot he could see the vast majority of the city below him. Certainly not the best cure for vertigo...

"C'mon Chris ya poof, get in there!" Ray shoved, trying to force Chris into the miniscule top window.

"C-can't you go first, mate?"

"No I bloody well can't! Besides, you're thinner than me - I need you to get in first and unlock that winda', ya understand?"

With one heave, Chris crashed into the room, making Mike turn his head, listening with great intent as he opened the front door. Litton started babbling on about the weather, how the windows took longer than expected to clean; anything to distract Mr. Smith now they were at the most crucial stage of the whole plan.

Then, another crash came from upstairs, Mike spinning right around.

Would the plan fall apart at the final hurdle?

To be completed...


	19. Chapter 19: All is well that ends well?

**Hey! Sorry for not updating on Saturday - I was away and forgot, lol! Thank you to JudasFm, Iaveina, losttimelady and Culf for reviewing last time!**

**I hope you all enjoy the last but long chapter of 'Blimey, it's a baby!'**

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Crashes came from inside the building. All of the conscious members of the stifling hot room jerked their heads up, cautious of the noises that had just been made known to their ears. 

"What was that?" the female quizzed, feeling her heart begin to beat faster, her breathing hesitant as if she was trying to be invisible.

Gene looked to Sam who, in turn, looked to Gene. They both seemed to be cracking. Tired, hungry and some in pain, this needed to end.

"I don't know, love, but I bloody well intend on finding out!" the Gov announced standing to his feet; he felt a new surge of energy burst inside him like a bomb.

Although he'd tried the tactic of barging the door down several times over the past few days (each time to no avail), he was certain that this time would be 'it'. The one where it would just swing open, releasing them from this darkened pit, crawling with inconspicuous insects and dust.

Gene, taking a good few steps back, inhaled, his chest rising, plumping itself up for the big finish. He ran like a warrior in battle at the door, his whole body colliding with the steel framework.

This time, the door budged, only slightly. He tried again and again, roaring as his body crashed into the locked passage.

Suddenly, the baby began to wail, Gene slumping his body in defeat, cursing under his breath. He'd come so close...maybe they were to be trapped in there forever?

Sam, trying to help Mrs. Smith comfort baby Aislin, had sat for half an hour in quiet contemplation. Perhaps if they couldn't break the door down, they could try something else?

Undoing his shirt by another button and throwing his green checked tie onto the ground, Gene rolled his sleeves as far as they would go up his arms; Gene Hunt was _not_ going to be beaten by a ruddy door!

As he took in another deep breath, Sam shot up, holding his hands out against his Chief's broad shoulders.

"Move outta my way, Tyler! I'm gonna end this once and for all!"

"Gov, wait a second, I've got a couple of ideas."

Gene, relaxing his posture in annoyance, rolled his eyes. "Blimey! The boy wonder's finally come up wit' sommats! Spill it, Dorothy!"

"Ok. How about you bang on the door and I fake being ill. Mike's bound to come in here. Then, you grab him, punch him so hard he goes flying back against Morgan, us lot escape before locking _them_ in here. Then, we call the station for help and nail them, just like that." he stated, clicking his fingers to keep Gene amused; he didn't care for his DI's speeches all that much.

"I don't think that's gonna work, Tommy Cooper," Gene replied with an added hint of sarcasm for good measure; the plan seemed much to much like something out of a Western. The Gov was past living in a movie trailer for all that. "You seem to be forgetting that we are dealing with a ruthless murderer 'ere who couldn't give a shit if we all rotted to death in this very room."

Jillian glanced up when her spouse was described as a murderer. She didn't want to admit it, naturally. Neither did she want to even marginally think about being locked in here until death.

Sam nodded in quiet defeat. "Ok, perhaps there is another way," he softly replied, walking over to the shaking blonde. "Have you got a hairpin I can borrow?"

- - - - - - - - - - -

Meanwhile, Mike Smith's face creased up in disgust.

Litton began to sweat; they could be done for right there and then. "Uh, so anyway, and I think that..."

"I think you should shut the bloody hell up!" Smith snarled, taking a pocket knife and flipping it open. He heard Litton whimper, enjoying the sounds with a perverse sense of satisfaction. "Now, I'm going to ask you once and once only - what the hell is going on upstairs?"

Smith's voice became a whisper. A whisper mumbled with great irritation, as he stepped with Litton who was cowering away, down the drive.

"I-I..."

"I SAID WHAT THE FUCKING HELL IS GOING ON UPSTAIRS?!"

"I uh, I don't know..."

Mike dragged a screaming Litton back into his house, making sure the door was bolted shut as he spun the DCI around, jabbing him harmlessly (for now) in the back. "When I say get up the stairs, I mean get up the fucking stairs, ok?"

"Um hum." Litton nodded, his lips clutched as tightly together as his eyes.

"GET UP THE FUCKING STAIRS!"

- - - - - - - - - - -

Slamming the door shut in the side room, Sergeant Carling and Constable Skelton began to panic. Their bodies pressed as firmly against the cracked, wooden door as possible, their breathing was disjointed; they couldn't leave Litton. However, they couldn't stay in the position they were in now. They'd all be dead.

"Chris, I want you to do something," Ray murmured, his hands now doused in sweat, slipping against the dodgy paintwork. "Get down that ladder and call the station - we need back up and we need it now."

Chris stopped, realising that would leave his pal all on his own. "But, Ray..."

"Chris, just do it, you div! Time's runnin' out, ok?"

Chris realised he had to do this, for the good of the whole station. Especially for Sam and the Gov.

Chris nodded, dashing over to the window. He had to do this. He knew he did.

- - - - - - - - - -

Elsewhere inside, Sam, Gene, Jillian, baby Aislin and an unconscious Morgan were still trapped; tension and heat were rapidly rising. Sam's plan wasn't working too well.

"Come on!" he grunted uncharacteristically, thumping the door in aggravation.

"I told you picking girly locks wouldn't make a blind bit of difference!"

"Like your plan worked much better?" he retorted wryly, continuing with his ways.

He heard a click and then a thud; Gene Hunt had kicked the door open, just as he unpicked the lock!

His hands trudging against his body, Gene felt lost without his handgun. Now, it was time to fight with his bare fists the old fashioned way; with brute, force and ignorance!

Sam assisted Jillian in getting up, holding baby Aislin as they made their way onto the landing of the semi-detached house. They shut the door behind, Morgan not even attempting to escape with them; he was so battered and bruised he couldn't even try and get up. Although, he was slowly coming round after millions of blows to the head.

Then, they all stopped dead in their tracks; an angered, snarling monster of a man was growling as he made his way up the stairs, complete with one terrified looking DCI Litton!

"Litton? What in the bloody 'ell are you doin' 'ere?"

Litton, trembling at the knife closing in on his spine, grunted. "What the heck do you think? I'm trying to save _you_ aren't I?"

"Well you're doin' a bloody lousy job of it!" Gene retaliated, standing back at the fierce glance that he got from Mike. "I think a retarded pixie could 'ave done a better job!"

"How the fucking hell did you get out?" Mike yelled, digging the knife a little closer to the Chief Inspector's back; he wasn't in the mood for any of Gene Hunt's jocular quips.

"Well just a bit of ingenuity, pal!" Gene spoke, rather too confident for Sam and Jillian's liking. "What are you doing with my fellow officer?"

Making their way to the top of the stairs, Smith began to breath harder, faster; he wanted to scare them into submission. He at least needed to _look_ like he was in control.

"I, DCI Hunt, am going to make an example out of him!" Mike grinned madly, like a Cheshire Cat with a traumatic mental disorder. "Right after I've made an example out of this bitch!"

Flinging Litton down the stairs, Mike snatched Jillian from behind Sam, holding the knife dangerously close to her neck.

Sam gasped, clutching the baby closer to his chest. "Mike, mate, think about this!"

"Shut up, Williams!" Mike spat, his clasps becoming tighter on his estranged wife.

"Please, don't hurt her!" Sam pleaded; he could still hear his Mother's tragic words in his confused head...

_"It's your Aunty Jillian, Sammy - she's dead."_

"Give me ONE good reason why I should?" Mike snarled, pressing the knife closer to her neck; she felt the cold, stainless steel against her skin, bloody trickling from the tiny gash. She mewled, trying to keep as still as possible; any slight movements and it could all be over in an instant.

"Because...she's the Mother of _your_ child," Sam paused, feeling tears well in his eyes. "You're not a bad man, Mike. I know that..."

"Why coz I'm your Uncle?" Smith snorted snidely, thinking back to all of his conversations with Frank Morgan.

"Piss off and let 'er go!" Gene snapped, not wanting any bullshit.

"NO!"

"Mate, please, this isn't the way to live your life," Sam sternly begged. "You have something so precious. You have a child that, regardless of what you've done in your life, will need you. Equally, she needs her Mummy. Please, _please_ don't deprive her of that."

Mike looked from his wife to his daughter, his face rock hard; he was berserk, having a copper telling him what to do with his life.

_"It's your Aunty Jillian, Sammy - she's dead."_

"Listen, Mike, do you really want your daughter to be an orphan?" Sam questioned coldly, trying to seem less desperate. "That's what it's gonna be like, for her. With her Mummy dead and her Father locked in jail."

Jillian whimpered at the notion of her death; she hoped that she wouldn't choke on DI Tyler's words.

"I remember, Mike, when we met you in that hospital a few days ago. You were so concerned for your baby's welfare. You wanted to protect her. You told me that children were a precious gift, that they should be cherished, loved. Now, all you're doing in harming her," Sam spoke earnestly, holding Aislin upwards. "Please, stop this. Now."

Suddenly, the right hand bedroom door crashed open, everyone twitching at the commotion. Stood in a line were DS Carling, DC Skelton and DC Cartwright. Annie couldn't hide her smile; she was so glad that Sam was ok even though he looked a little worse for wear.

"Mr. Smith, I suggest you put that bird and your knife down." Ray urged gruffly as he reached in his trouser pocket, pulling out a revolver.

Chris and Annie mimicked his actions. Gene cringed inside; after all of the sweet talking Tyler had just done, they were about to piss it all away with one single shot.

"Look, Mike. I don't want to instruct my officers to shoot. But they will unless you let your wife go, got it?" DCI Hunt demanded as his lip curled with mere aggression.

"Come on mate," Sam coaxed. "We can end this peacefully - just drop the knife."

_"It's your Aunty Jillian, Sammy - she's dead."_

On baited breaths, Manchester's A Division waited for the weapon - and woman - to be dropped. Gene gave the nod for them to load the bullets, Smith turning to them with eyes closed and his face shrunken.

Thankfully, with a drawn-out sigh, Mike complied after much deliberation, Jillian running into the arms of Inspector Tyler and her baby.

Ray smirked in satisfaction, with Chris' help cuffing Mike up to make sure he wouldn't go back on his word. Smith couldn't take his eyes off the ground; he couldn't believe this was happening. Frank Morgan had promised him that they'd never be found out.

Gene patted Sam on the back as the younger man handed the baby back to her mother; it was rather ironic that Aislin, so sweet, innocent and oblivious to this whole thing was at the centre of all of this. In the oddest of ways at least.

"Right, Ray, Chris, get that twat Morgan cuffed and down the station too - I want these bastards locked up tonight." the Gov demanded, taking hold of Mike who wriggled, protesting to DCI Hunt's grips. Gene kneed him in the kidney's watching his strength diminish as he led him away to one of the awaiting police cars.

Jillian stood taller, a watery smile making her face succumb to happiness as she spied the other coppers venture into the room where she'd been enclosed for a short while. "I know that sometimes I moan about her and feel a bit low but I could never do without her." she proclaimed, looking down at the sleeping body wrapped warmly in her arms; her baby girl.

"I don't know how true it all is, but Mike said that you've been feeling a bit under the weather ever since she was born?" Sam questioned gently, watching Jillian's tentative, sad nods. "There is help out there. You aren't on your own, love."

Jillian became overwhelmed with emotion, kissing Sam gratefully on the cheek. "I know there is. Thank you, for everything, Sam."

"Don't even mention it." Sam beamed, urging his 'aunty' to keep in contact with him, to let him know how they were getting on.

Although this was her home, Jillian couldn't bare the thought of being there for the time being. She rang her Mother straight away, wanting to escape the trauma of the past few weeks. Perhaps even escape Manchester for good; to bring her baby girl up away from any traces of her Father.

Sam let his palms trail across his face, wincing at the tender marks on his cheek. The only two people left on the landing were him and Annie, now that Ray and Chris were literally carrying a limp Morgan to the car.

As their eyes slowly connected, blue and hazels melting into one, they both openly sobbed in each others arms, not wanting to let go. Ever.

"Thank God you're ok." she cried, running her fingers through his hair as they stood in quiet appreciation of each other, enriching themselves with one another once again, a pleasure that, at times, both of them doubted would ever come true.

"Oi, Gladys, put sparkle knickers down - we've got a case to close!"

Laughing lightly and wiping away each others tears, they walked off hand in hand, taking the short drive back to the station as a blissful homecoming for the both of them.

- - - - - - - - - -

"Right, since DCI Fairy-Pants is still outta it, looks like we're gonna 'ave to interview you first, _Mr. Smith_." Gene declared, pacing around the room, wanting to make Mike motion sick.

"You can't make me speak," Mike smirked, as if he was the one ruling the show. "Besides, you have no actual evidence that I had anything to do with it. Not a sausage."

Hunt, now stood shoulder to shoulder with his DI, shrugged; they were in a bit of a tight spot.

But not for too long.

Groping inside his leather jacket, Inspector Tyler pulled out a tape recorder, a playful grin capturing his lips. The Gov laughed deeply. His mind flashed back to when Sam must have actually turned the thing on. He wasn't quite sure; but he was damn glad he did it!

"Thank Einstein!" The Gov chuckled; maybe science wasn't such a bad thing after all?

"Here, Mr. Smith, we have a full account of events from the very first time you came in contact with Frank Morgan."

"Who by?"

"Your wife, Mr. Smith."

"Rubbish! That proves nothing!"

Listening to the screeching of the now battered machine, Sam pressed play at a rather apt moment.

_"Mrs. Smith, I know this may be hard for you to answer and I apologise for asking but did Mike Smith kill __any__ of those women?"_

_"Ye-yes. He was going to do it again. A girl, looked barely older than fifteen in the alleyway outside the house..."_

Sam stopped the tape, the disbelief evident in Mike's eyes. "THAT BITCH!" he stood, tipping the table over.

"Plus, just so that you know, our team has forensic evidence that you were the one who stunned myself and DCI Hunt here with the flower pots that were outside your house when we visited you the day before."

"I'm gonna..."

Gene lunged at Mike before he could lay a finger on his DI. "I suggest you si' down and sign this bloody confession, Mike, before I beat every type of shit out of our body, got it?" he sniped, twisting his arms to his back, watching Smith squirm in defeat.

He picked up the paper and pen as Gene and Sam glanced at each other in quiet success.

- - - - - - - - - -

Strolling into the Railway Arms after a horrible absence, Gene Hunt and Sam Tyler received one of the loudest obviations they'd ever heard. The Gov bowed before everyone, demanding that they all bought him a drink. Sam, meanwhile, subtly a quiet seat in the corner, reflecting on the past few days of living hell.

"Hey, long time no see!" Nelson simpered, shaking the Inspectors hand. "What can I get you, mon bruv?"

"Just a diet coke, please." Sam said, taking the half empty bottle of pain pills from his pocket.

The barman looked at him in silent horror, deciding it wasn't best to ask what exactly they were for. The drink was on the house so Sam gratefully accepted, sipping the dark caramel coloured beverage sparingly; how he longed for a Pepsi Max!

A paper was thrown down before him, Sam noticing the proud presence next to him. "We made the front page."

"That's great." Sam nodded a little down hearted, reading the headline _'Captured Copper's Branded Heroes'._ Sam didn't like the use of the word hero; really, they were only doing their job.

Gene noticed the look of angst on his DI's face. "Look, I'm sorry about forcing you to tell me about your past. That were wrong of me - you should 'ave been able to do it when you wanted to._ If_ you wanted to."

An apology from Gene Hunt was as rare as a drunk that made sense. However, Sam nodded in appreciation. "I'm sorry if you thought I didn't trust you. I do, it's just, well..."

"You were worried in case I let it slip to the whole station? I can understand that. I've trusted you with a lot of stuff over the past few months, Sammy-Boy, some of it I've never trust the missus with."

Sam shone on the inside, glancing over to his Chief. If anything, this whole bizarre yet tragic scenario had made their faith in each other stronger, bringing the two Officers closer together.

Tyler patted Gene on the shoulder. "Thank you for getting us out of there."

"No problem. I think your girly lock picking ways did play a part too, though." Gene tittered, Sam imitating his actions as he looked into the bottomless glass.

Sam glanced over at his Gov. "Thank you."

Between the two of them, they knew exactly what Sam was thanking Gene for; for being a good friend, helping him when he needed it most.

"Sometimes your gay boy, science palaver 'elps. 'Ow did you sneak that tape recorder in there?"

"Just happened. He only looked for my gun when I first got there and when Jillian started talking, I thought it would be a good idea to get it on record."

"Poor Litton - fallin' down the stairs like that." Gene tisked, his voice coated with sarcasm; no matter what would happen, his and the other DCI's relationship would never change. That, he was certain of.

Both men stopped as a young lady approached the Inspector, a Gin and Tonic nursed in her hands. Her smile was pleasantly bright without being blinding.

"I'll leave you and the plonk to it." Gene decided, tapping Sam on the hand as he waltzed over to Nelson, only a little unsteady on his feet.

Annie took the seat beside her boyfriend, her head tilted on one side. His face had lit up the moment she came into view. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, fine. Tell me about this famous DI Norton that I've heard a bit about," Sam questioned, folding his arms. "Don't tell me I have competition?"

Annie chuckled, taking another sip of her drink. "To you, darling, no one does compare." she pecked him on the lips gradually, as Sam became more relaxed, his moist lips floating like a butterfly over hers.

She broke away for a split seconds, feeling that Sam wasn't fully returning the favour. "Ok, we found out that 'e's Morgan's DI. I flirted with 'im as part of our plan and that was it. By the time we'd come back, he was gone without a trace."

Sam, relieved that everything was nearly at a close, took her hand in his. "I don't want to be here for much longer." he spoke, his eyes drooping a little; he just needed sleep.

Annie stood to her feet. "Neither do I. Just let me go to the Lady's and I'll take you home, Inspector."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Would you be interested in spending the night, Miss Cartwright?"

"Only if I'm asked nicely." she winked, grinning warmly once again, gracing Sam's lips with a small but valuable kiss. "Back in a moment."

Sam sat up, glad that this was nearly all coming to an end. He felt he could relax a lot more...

_"Sammy, darling, it's your Mum. Dr. Morgan's been arrested - something about bad practise. I'm never going to leave you, not ever. You never have to worry about me turning this life support machine off. It won't happen. I love you, always and forever. You can always guarantee that."_

Sam Tyler felt a smile erupt on his lips, a proper smile. Not one that he had to put on for the sake of appearing happy because now he was happy. More than happy. As he looked around, he was surrounding by people who he liked - some of them loved.

Phyllis, even though haggard, was the Mother Hen of them all, keeping them all in place when need be. Ray and Chris, the bumbling duo who both had much more credit than either gave each other. Gene, one of the most valuable friends Sam had ever had either though he would hate to come over 'all Dorothy' and admit it. And Annie, sweet Annie, the person that could always help (or drag) him through the day with her spirit alone.

Now, he felt he had a purpose in 1973. He'd saved a baby being put in an orphanage, prevented his 'aunty' being killed by a murdering scumbag. Sam did have to let his mind wonder for a few moments. He wondered whether Jillian would reappear in the future, find her daughter and his Mum? Now that he'd been able to save her in 70's Manchester, would that mean she'd live once again? He hoped so, for all of them.

Annie returned graciously, sweeping him with another passionate kiss. "Yours or mine?"

"I really don't mind."

Waving goodbye to his comrades, with his Mum's considerate words still floating in his head, DI Sam Tyler knew he now had the best of both worlds.

And to him, that was perfection.

* * *

Well, there you 'ave it! That's the end of 'Blimey, it's a baby!'. A big thank you to anyone who read and especially those of you who gave me invaluable advice or reviews throughout, particularly to JudasFm!

I'm working on a couple of more Life On Mars stories, one that should have its first chapter out soon, so stay tuned. Any last thoughts are greatly appreciated and I hope you all enjoyed the finally!

Thank you once again for reading - please review!

Eleanor.


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